II 


OLD  FIRESHND 
i  PROFITHBLE© 

[GAosTseee 

HTQUILLER- COVCH 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


3- 


NOVELS,  STORIES,  SKETCHES  AND 

ESSAYS 


Old  Fires  and  Profitable  Ghosts 

The  Ship  of  Stars 

The  Splendid  Spur 

The  Blue  Pavilions 

Wandering  Heath 

The  Delectable  Duchy 

Dead  Man's  Rock 

Noughts  and  Crosses 

Troy  Town  . 

I  Saw  Three  Ships 

Adventures  in  Criticism 

Historical  Tales  from  Shakespeare, 

la.     A  Love  Story  [Ivory  Series] 


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OLD   FIRES   AND 
PROFITABLE   GHOSTS 


OLD  FIRES  AND 
PROFITABLE  GHOSTS 


A  BOOK  OF  STORIES 


BY 


A.  T.   QUILLER-COUCH 

(Q) 


CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 
NEW    YORK    1900 


?R^  194 
(343 


Copyright,  1900,  bv 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


TROW  DIRECTORr 

PRIHTINQ  AND  BOOKBINDmO  COMPANY 

NCW  YORK 


PREFACE 

The  stories  in  this  book  are  of  revenants:  per- 
sons who  either  in  spirit  or  in  body  revisit  old 
scenes,  return  upon  old  selves  or  old  emotions,  or 
relate  a  message  from  a  world  beyond  perception. 
"Which?"  was  suggested  by  a  passage  in  Haw- 
thorne's Note-books,  where  he  proposes  a  story  or 
sketch  the  scene  of  which  is  "  to  be  laid  within 
the  light  of  a  street  lantern;  the  time,  when  the 
lamp  is  near  going  out;  and  the  catastrophe  to 
be  simultaneous  with  the  last  flickering  gleam." 
"  The  Lady  of  the  Ship  "  is  very  nearly  historical. 
"  Prisoners  of  War  "  rests  on  the  actual  adventures 
of  two  St.  Ives  men,  Thomas  Williams  and  John 
Short,  in  the  years  1804-1814.  "Frozen  Mar- 
git  "  and  "  The  Seventh  Man  "  have— if  not  their 
originals — at  least  their  suggestions  in  fact. 

One  of  the  tales,  "  Once  Aboard  the  Lugger," 
is  itself  a  revenant.  After  writing  it  in  the  form 
here  presented,  I  took  advice  and  gave  it  another. 


PREFACE 

under  the  title  of  "  la."  Yet  some  whose  opin- 
ion I  value  prefer  the  original,  and  to  satisfy  them 
(though  I  think  them  wrong)  it  is  reprinted,  not 
with  intent  to  pad  out  the  volume,  as  its  bulk 
ought  to  prove.  But  my  readers  are  too  generous 
to  need  the  assurance. 

Q. 


VI 


CONTENTS 


I.      OCEANUS 

II.  The  Seventh  Man 

III.  The  Room  of  Mirrors 

IV.  A  Pair  of  Hands 
V.  Tin;  Lady  of  iiie  Ship 

VI.  Frozen  Maugit 

VII  Singular  Adventure  of  a  Small  Free-Trader 

VIII.  The  Mystery  of  Joseph  Laquedem 

IX.  Prisoners  of  War 

X.  A  Town's  Memory 

XI.  The  Lady  of  the  Ki.d  Admirals 

XII.  The  Penance  of  John  Emmet 

XIII.  Elisha    ...... 

XIV.  ''Once  Aboard  the  Lugger" 
XV.  Which? 


PAOB 

•                  •                  • 

1 

•                 •                  • 

21 

. 

44 

. 

73 

. 

95 

. 

144 

iee-Trader 

IDG 

215 

250 

. 

279 

289 

. 

307 

340 

■                  •                  • 

354 

375 

OCEANUS 


My  dear  Violet, — So  yon  "  gather  from  the  tone 
of  two  or  three  recent  letters  that  my  spirit  is 
creeping  back  to  light  and  warmth  again  ?  "  Well, 
after  a  fashion  you  are  right.  I  shall  never  laugh 
again  as  I  used  to  laugh  before  Harry's  death.  The 
taste  has  gone  out  of  that  carelessness,  and  I  turn 
even  from  the  remembrance  of  it.  But  I  can  be 
clieerful,  with  a  cheerfulness  which  has  found  the 
centre  of  gravity.  I  am  myself  again,  as  people 
say.  After  months  of  agitation  in  what  seemed 
to  be  chaos  the  lost  atom  has  dropped  back  to  its 
place  in  the  scheme  of  things,  and  even  aspires 
(poor  mite !)  to  do  its  infinitesimal  business  intelli- 
gently. So  might  a  mote  in  a  sunbeam  feel  itself 
at  one  with  God! 

But  when  you  assume  that  my  recovery  has 
been  a  gradual  process,  you  are  \vrong.  You  will 
think  me  more  than  ever  deranged;    but  I  assure 


OCEANUS 

jou  that  it  lias  been  brought  about,  not  by  long 
strivings,  but  suddenly — without  preparation  of 
mine — and  hy  the  immediate  hand  of  our  dead 
brother. 

Yes;  you  shall  have  the  whole  tale.  The  first 
effect  of  the  news  of  Harry's  death  in  October  last 
was  simply  to  stun  me.  You  may  remember  how 
once,  years  ago  when  we  were  children,  we  rode 
home  together  across  the  old  Eacecourse  after  a 
long  day's  skating,  our  skates  swinging  at  our 
saddle-bows;  how  Harry  challenged  us  to  a  gal- 
lop ;  and  how,  midway,  the  roan  mare  slipped  down 
neck  over  crop  on  the  frozen  turf  and  hurled  me 
clean  against  the  face  of  a  stone  dyke.  I  had 
been  thrown  from  horseback  more  than  once  be- 
fore, but  somehow  had  always  found  the  earth 
fairly  elastic.  So  I  had  griefs  before  Harry  died 
and  took  some  rebound  of  hope  from  each:  but 
that  cast  repeated  in  a  worse  degree  the  old  shock 
— the  springless  brutal  jar — of  the  stone  dyke. 
With  him  the  sun  went  out  of  my  sky. 

I  understand  that  this  torpor  is  quite  common 
with  men  and  women  suddenly  bereaved.  I  be- 
lieve that  a  whole  week  passed  before  my  brain 
recovered  any  really  vital  motion;  and  then  such 
feeble  thought  as  I  could  exert  was  wholly  occu- 
pied  with   the   desperate   stupidity   of  the   whole 


OCEANUS 

affair.  If  God  were  indeed  shaping  the  world  to 
any  end,  if  any  design  of  His  underlay  the  activi- 
ties of  men,  what  insensate  waste  to  quench  such 
a  heart  and  brain  as  Harry's! — to  nip,  as  it  seemed 
out  of  mere  blundering  wantonness,  a  bud  which 
had  begun  to  open  so  generously:  to  sacrifice  that 
youth  and  strength,  that  comeliness,  that  enthusi- 
asm, and  all  for  nothing!  Had  some  campaign 
claimed  him,  had  he  been  spent  to  gain  a  citadel 
or  defend  a  flag,  I  had  understood.  But  that  he 
should  be  killed  on  a  friendly  mission;  attacked 
in  ignorance  by  those  East  Coast  savages  while 
bearing  gifts  to  their  king;  deserted  by  the  porters 
whose  comfort  (on  their  own  confession)  he  had 
studied  throughout  the  march;  left  to  die,  to  be 
tortured,  mutilated — and  all  for  no  possible  good: 
these  things  I  could  not  understand.  At  the  end 
he  might  have  escaped;  but  as  he  caught  hold  of 
his  saddle  by  the  band  between  the  holsters,  it 
parted:  it  was  no  leather  but  faced  paper,  the  job 
of  some  cheating  contractor.  I  thought  of  this, 
too.     And  Harry  had  been  through  Chitral! 

But  though  a  man  mav  hate,  he  cannot  easilv 
despise  God  for  long.  "  He  is  great — but  waste- 
ful," said  the  American.  We  are  the  dust  on  His 
great  hands,  and  fly  as  He  claps  them  carelessly  in 

the  pauses  of  His  work.     Yet  this  theory  would 

3 


OCEANUS 

not  do  at  all:    for  tlio  unlucky  particles  are  not 

dust,    not    refuse,    but    exquisite    and    exquisitely 

fashioned,   designed  to   live,   and   to   every   small 

function  of  life  adapted  with  the  minutest  care. 

There  were  nights  indeed  when,  walking  along  the 

shore  where  we  had  walked  together  on  the  night 

before  Harry  left  England  and  looking  from  the 

dark  waters  which  divided  me  from  his  grave  up 

to  the  moon  and  to  the  stars  around  her,  I  could 

well  believe  God  wasteful  of  little  things.     Sirius 

flashing  low,   Orion's  belt  with  the  great  nebula 

swinging  like  a  pendant  of  diamonds;    the  ruby 

stars,  Betelgueux  and  Aldebaran — my  eyes  went 

up  beyond  these  to  Perseus  shepherding  the  Kids 

westward  along  the  Milky  way.     From  the  right 

Andromeda  flashed  signals  to  him:    and  above  sat 

Cassiopeia,  her  mother,  resting  her  jewelled  wrists 

on  the  arms  of  her  throne.    Low  in  the  east  Jupiter 

trailed  his  satellites  in  the  old  moon's  path.     As 

they  all  moved,  silent,  looking  down  on  me  out  of 

the  hollow  spaces  of  the  night,  I  could  believe  no 

splendid  waste  too  costly  for  their  perfection:    and 

the  Artificer  who  hung  them  there  after  millions 

of  years  of  patient  effort,  if  more  intelligible  than 

a  God  who  produced  them  suddenly  at  will,  cer- 

tainlv  not  less  divine.    But  walking  the  same  shore 

by  daylight  I  recognised  that  the  shells,  the  mosses, 

4 


OCEANUS 

the  flowers  I  trampled  on,  were,  each  in  its  way, 
as  perfect  as  those  great  stars:  that  on  these — and 
on  Harry — as  surely  as  on  the  stars,  God  had 
spent,  if  not  infinite  pains,  then  at  least  so  super- 
lative a  wisdom  that  to  conceive  of  them  as  wastage 
was  to  deny  the  mind  which  called  them  forth. 

There  they  were:  and  that  He  who  had  skill 
to  create  them  could  blunder  in  using  them  was 
simply  incredible. 

But  this  led  to  worse:  for  having  to  admit  the 
infallible  design,  I  now  began  to  admire  it  as  an 
exquisite  scheme  of  evil,  and  to  accuse  God  of  em- 
ploying supreme  knowledge  and  skill  to  gratify  a 
royal  lust  of  cruelty.  For  a  month  and  more  this 
horrible  theory  justified  itself  in  all  innocent  daily 
sights.  Throughout  my  country  walks  I  "  saw 
blood."  I  heard  the  rabbit  run  squeaking  before 
the  weasel;  I  watched  the  butcher  crow  working 
steadily  down  the  hedge.  H  I  turned  seaward  I 
looked  beneath  the  blue  and  saw  the  dog-fish  gnaw- 
ing on  the  whiting.  If  I  walked  in  the  garden  I 
surprised  the  thrush  dragging  worms  from  the  turf, 
the  cat  slinking  on  the  nest,  the  spider  squatting 
in  ambush.  Behind  the  rosy  face  of  every  well- 
nourished  child  I  saw  a  lamb  gazing  up  at  the 
butcher's  knife.  My  dear  Violet,  that  was  a  hid- 
eous time! 

5 


OCEANUS 

And  just  then  by  chance  a  book  fell  into  my 
bands — Lamartine's  Chute  d^un  Ange.  Do  you 
know  the  Seventh  and  Tenth  Visions  of  that  poem, 
which  describe  the  favourite  amusements  of  the 
Men-gods?  Before  the  Deluge,  beyond  the  rude 
tents  of  the  nomad  shepherds,  there  rose  city  upon 
city  of  palaces  built  of  jasper  and  porphyry,  splen- 
did and  utterly  corrupt;  inhabited  by  men  who 
called  themselves  gods  and  explored  the  subtleties 
of  all  sciences  to  minister  to  their  vicious  pleasures. 
At  ease  on  soft  couches,  in  hanging  gardens  set 
with  fountains,  these  beings  feasted  with  every  re- 
finement of  cruelty.  Kneeling  slaves  were  their 
living  tables;    while  for  their  food — 

Tous  les  oiseaux  de  Vair,  tous  les  poissons  de  Vonde, 
Tout  ce  qui  vole  ou  nage  ou  rampe  dans  le  monde, 
Mourant  pour  leur  plaisir  des  plus  cruels  trepas 
De  sanglantes  saveurs  composent  leurs  repas.    .    .    . 

In  these  lines  I  believed  that  I  discerned  the  very 
God  of  the  universe,  the  God  whom  men  wor- 
ship.— 

Dans  les  inf antes  jeux  de  leur  divin  loisir 
Le  supplice  de  Vhomme  est  leur  premier  plaisir. 
Pour  que  leur  oeilferoce  d  Venvi  s^en  repaisse 
Des  boui'reaux  devant  eux  en  immolent  sans  cesse. 
Tantot  ilsfont  hitter,  dans  des  combats  affreux. 
Vhomme  contre  la  brute  et  les  hommes  entre  eux, 

6 


OCEANUS 

Atix  longs  I'uisseaux  de  sang  qui  coiilent  de  la  veine, 

Aux  palpitations  des  memhres  sur  Varene, 

Se  levant  a  demi  de  lettrs  lits  de  repos 

Des  frissons  de  plaisir  fremissent  sur  leurs  peaux. 

Le  cri  de  la  torture  est  leur  douce  harmonie, 

Et  leur  ceil  dans  son  ceil  hoit  sa  lente  agonie.    .    .    . 

I  charged  the  Supreme  Power  with  a  ci-uelty  de- 
liberate, ruthless,  serene.  Kero  the  tyrant  once 
commanded  a  representation  in  grim  earnest  of  the 
Flight  of  Icarus;  and  the  unhappy  boy  who  took 
the  part,  at  his  first  attempt  to  fly,  fell  headlong 
beside  the  Emperor's  couch  and  spattered  him 
with  blood  and  brains.  For  the  Emperor,  says 
Suetonius,  perraro  praesidere,  ceterum  accuhans, 
parvis  primum  foraminibus,  delude  toto  podio 
adaperto,  spectare  consuerat.  So  I  believed  that 
on  the  stage  of  this  world  men  agonised  for  the 
delight  of  one  cruel  intelligence  which  watched 
from  behind  the  curtain  of  a  private  box. 

n 

In  this  unhappy  condition  of  mind,  then,  I  was 
lying  in  my  library  chair  here  at  Sevenhays,  at 
two  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  January  4tli.  I 
had  just  finished  another  reading  of  the  Tenth 
Vision  and  had  tossed  my  book  into  the  lap  of  an 
armchair  opposite.     Fire  and  lamp  were  burning 

7 


OCEANUS 

brightly.  The  night  outside  was  still  and  sound- 
less, with  a  touch  of  frost. 

I  lay  there,  retracing  in  thought  the  circum- 
stance of  Harry's  last  parting  from  me,  and  re- 
peating to  myself  a  scrap  here  and  there  from  the 
three  letters  he  wrote  on  his  way — the  last  of 
them,  full  of  high  spirits,  received  a  full  three 
weeks  after  the  telegram  which  announced  his 
death.  There  was  a  passage  in  this  last  letter  de- 
scribing a  wonderful  ride  he  had  taken  alone  and 
by  moonlight  on  the  veldt;  a  ride  (he  protested) 
wdiich  wanted  nothing  of  perfect  happiness  but 
me,  his  friend,  riding  beside  him  to  share  his  won- 
der. There  was  a  sentence  which  I  could  not  re- 
call precisely,  and  I  left  my  chair  and  was  crossing 
the  room  towards  the  drawer  in  the  writing-table 
where  I  kept  his  letters,  when  I  heard  a  trampling 
of  hoofs  on  the  gravel  outside,  and  then  my  Chris- 
tian name  called — with  distinctness,  but  not  at  all 
loudly. 

I  went  to  the  window,  which  was  unshuttered; 
drew^  up  the  blind  and  flung  up  the  sash.  The 
moon,  in  its  third  quarter  and  about  an  hour  short 
of  its  meridian,  shone  over  the  deodars  upon  the 
white  gravel.  And  there,  before  the  front  door, 
sat  Harry  on  his  soitcI  mare  Vivandiere,  holding 
my  own  Grey  Sultan  ready  bridled  and  saddled. 


OCEANUS 

He  was  dressed  in  his  old  khaki  riding  suit,  and 
his  face,  as  he  sat  askew  in  his  saddle  and  looked 
up  towards  my  window,  wore  its  habitual  and 
happy  smile. 

Now,  call  this  and  what  follows  a  dream,  vision, 
hallucination,  what  you  will;  but  understand, 
please, .  that  from  the  first  moment  so  far  as  I 
considered  the  matter  at  all,  I  had  never  the  least 
illusion  that  this  was  Harry  in  flesh  and  blood. 
I  knew  quite  well  all  the  while  that  Harry  was 
dead  and  his  body  in  his  grave.  But,  soul  or 
phantom — whatever  relation  to  Hany  this  might 
bear — it  had  come  to  me,  and  the  great  joy  of 
that  was  enough  for  the  time.  There  let  us  leave 
the  question.  I  closed  the  window,  went  upstairs 
to  my  dressing-room,  drew  on  my  riding-boots 
and  overcoat,  found  cap,  gloves,  and  riding-crop, 
and  descended  to  the  porch. 

Harry,   as  I  shall   call  him,   was  still   waiting 

there  on  the  off  side  of  Grey  Sultan,  the  farther 

side  from  the  door.     There  could  be  no  doubt,  at 

any  rate,  that  the  grey  was  real  hoi'seflesh   and 

blood,    though   he   seemed   unusually    quiet   after 

two  days  in  stall.     IlaiTy  freed  him  as  I  mounted, 

and  we  set  off  together  at  a  walk,  which  we  kept 

as  far  as  the  gate. 

Outside   we  took  the  westward  road,   and   our 

9 


OCEANUS 

horses  broke  into  a  trot.  As  yet  we  had  not  ex- 
changed a  word;  but  now  he  asked  a  question  or 
two  about  his  people  and  his  friends;  kindly,  yet 
most  casually,  as  one  might  who  returns  after  a 
week's  holidaying,  I  answered  as  well  as  I  could, 
with  trivial  news  of  their  health.  His  mother 
had  borne  the  winter  better  than  usual — to  be 
sure,  there  had  been  as  yet  no  cold  weather  to 
speak  of;  but  she  and  Ethel  intended,  I  believed, 
to  start  for  the  south  of  France  early  in  February. 
He  inquired  about  you.  His  comments  were  such 
as  a  man  makes  on  hearing  just  what  he  expects 
to  hear,  or  knows  beforehand.  And  for  some 
time  it  seemed  to  be  tacitly  taken  for  granted  be- 
tween us  that  I  should  ask  him  no  questions. 

"  As  for  me "  I  began,  after  a  while. 

He  checked  the  marc's  pace  a  little.  "  I  know," 
he  said,  looking  straight  ahead  between  her  ears; 
then,  after  a  pause,  "  it  has  been  a  bad  time  for 
you.  You  are  in  a  bad  way  altogether.  That  is 
why  I  came." 

"  But  it  was  for  you!  "  I  blurted  out.  "  Harry, 
if  only  I  had  known  why  you  were  taken — and 
what  it  was  to  you!" 

He  turned  his  face  to  me  with  the  old  confident 

comforting  smile. 

"  Don't  you  trouble  about  that.     ThaVs  noth- 

10 


OCEANUS 

ing  to  make  a  fuss  about.  Death  ?  "  he  went  on 
musing — our  horses  had  fallen  to  a  walk  again — 
"  It  looks  you  in  the  face  a  moment:  you  put  out 
your  hands:  you  touch — and  so  it  is  gone.  My 
dear  boy,  it  isn't  for  us  that  you  need  worry." 

"  For  whom,  then  ?  " 

"  Come,"  said  he,  and  he  shook  Vivandiere  into 
a  canter. 


rn 

I  CANNOT  remember  precisely  at  what  point  in 
our  ride  the  country  had  ceased  to  be  familiar. 
But  by-and-by  we  were  climbing  the  lower  slopes 
of  a  great  down  which  bore  no  resemblance  to  the 
pastoral  country  around  Sevenhays.  We  had  left 
the  beaten  road  for  short  turf — apparently  of  a 
copper-brown  hue,  but  this  may  have  been  the 
effect  of  the  moonlight.  The  ground  rose  steadily, 
but  with  an  easy  inclination,  and  we  climbed  with 
the  wind  at  our  backs;  climbed,  as  it  seemed,  for 
an  hour,  or  maybe  two,  at  a  footpace,  keeping 
silence.  The  happiness  of  having  Ilarry  beside 
me  took  away  all  desire  for  speech. 

This  at  least  was  my  state  of  mind  as  we 
mounted  the  long  lower  slopes  of  the  down.  But 
in  time  the  air,  hitherto  so  exhilarating,  began  to 

11 


OCEANUS 

oppress  my  lungs,  and  tlie  tranquil  happiness  to 

give  way  to  a  vague  discomfort  and  apprehension. 
"  AVliat  is  this  noise  of  water  running?  " 
I  reined  up  Grey  Sultan  as  I  put  the  question. 

At  the  same  moment  it  occurred  to  me  that  this 

sound  of  water,  distant  and  continuous,  had  been 

running  in  my  ear  for  a  long  while. 

Harry,  too,  came  to  a  halt.     With  a  sweep  of 

the  arm  that  embraced  the  dim  landscape  around 

and  ahead,  he  quoted  softly — 

(V  di'erldfi   TtOTafxoio  fieya   adfvos  * ClKtavolo 
avTvya  nap  TTVjxdTrjv  aoLKfos  nvKii  ttoit]toio.   .  .    . 

and  was  silent  again. 

I  recalled  at  once  and  distinctly  the  hot  summer 
morning  ten  years  back,  when  we  had  prepared 
that  passage  of  the  Eighteenth  Book  together  in 
our  study  at  Clifton;  I  at  the  table,  Harry  lolling 
in  the  cane-seated  armchair  with  the  Liddell  and 
Scott  open  on  his  knees;  outside,  the  sunny  close 
and  the  fresh  green  of  the  lime-trees. 

]^ow  that  I  looked  more  attentively  the  bare 
down,  on  which  we  climbed  like  flies,  did  indeed 
resemble  a  vast  round  shield,  about  the  rim  of 
which  this  unseen  water  echoed.  And  the  resem- 
blance grew  more   startling  when,   a  mile   or  so 

farther  on  our  way,  as  the  grey  dawn  overtook  us, 

12 


OCEANUS 

Harry  pointed  upwards  and  ahead  to  a  small  boss 
or  excrescence  now  lifting  itself  above  the  long 
curve  of  the  horizon. 

At  first  I  took  it  for  a  hummock  or  tumulus. 
Then,  as  the  day  whitened  about  us,  I  saw  it  to 
be  a  building — a  tall,  circular  barrack  not  unlike 
the  Colosseum.  A  question  shaped  itself  on  my 
lips,  but  something  in  Harry's  manner  forbade  it. 
His  gaze  was  bent  steadily  forward,  and  I  kept 
my  wonder  to  myself,  and  also  the  oppression  of 
spirit  which  had  now  growm  to  something  like 
physical  torture. 

When  fii'st  the  great  barrack  broke  into  sight 
we  must  have  been  at  least  two  miles  distant.  I 
kept  my  eyes  fastened  on  it  as  we  approached,  and 
little  by  little  made  out  the  details  of  its  archi- 
tecture. From  base  to  summit — which  appeared 
to  be  roofless — six  courses  of  many  hundred  arches 
ran  around  the  building,  one  above  the  other;  and 
between  each  pair  a  course,  as  it  seemed,  of  plain 
worked  stone,  though  I  afterwards  found  it  to  be 
sculptured  in  low  relief.  The  arches  were  cut  in 
deep  relief  and  backed  with  undressed  stone.  The 
lowest  course  of  all,  however,  was  quite  plain, 
having  neither  arches  nor  frieze;  but  at  intervals 
corresponding  to  the  eight  major  points  of  the 
compass — so  far  as  I  who  saw  but  one  side  of  it 

13 


OCEANUS 

could  judge — pairs  of  gigantic  stone  figures  sup- 
ported archways  pierced  in  the  wall;  or  sluices, 
rather,  since  from  every  archway  but  one  a  full 
stream  of  water  issued  and  poured  down  the  sides 
of  the  hill.  The  one  dry  archway  was  that  which 
faced  us  with  open  gate,  and  towards  which  Harry- 
led  the  way ;  for  oppression  and  terror  now  weighted 
my  hand  as  with  lead  upon  Grey  Sultan's  rein. 

Harry,  however,  rode  forward  resolutely,  dis- 
mounted almost  in  the  very  shadow  of  the  great 
arch  and  waited,  smoothing  his  mare's  neck.  But 
for  the  invitation  in  his  eyes,  which  were  solemn, 
yet  without  a  trace  of  fear,  I  had  never  dared  that 
last  hundred  yards.  For  above  the  rush  of  waters 
I  heard  now  a  confused  sound  within  the  build- 
ing— the  thud  and  clanking  of  heavy  machinery, 
and  at  intervals  a  human  groan;  and  looking  up 
I  saw  that  the  long  friezes  in  bas-relief  represented 
men  and  women  tortured  and  torturing  with  all 
conceivable  variety  of  method  and  circumstance — 
flayed,  racked,  burned,  torn  asunder,  loaded  with 
weights,  pinched  with  hot  irons,  and  so  on  with- 
out end.  And  it  added  to  the  horror  of  these 
sculptures  that  while  the  limbs  and  even  the  dress 
of  each  figure  were  carved  with  elaborate  care  and 
nicety  of  detail,  the  faces  of  all — of  those  who 

applied  the  torture  and  of  those  who  looked  on, 

14 


OCEANUS 

as  well  as  of  the  sufferers  themselves — were  left 
absolutely  blank.  On  the  same  plan  the  two 
Titans  beside  the  great  archway  had  no  faces.  The 
sculptor  had  traced  the  muscles  of  each  belly  in 
a  constriction  of  anguish,  and  had  suggested  this 
anguish  again  in  moulding  the  neck,  even  in  dis- 
posing tlic  hair  of  the  head;  but  the  neck  sup- 
ported, and  the  locks  fell  around,  a  space  of  smooth 
stone  without  a  feature. 

Harry  allowe({  me  no  time  to  feed  on  these 
horrors.  Signing  to  me  to  dismount  and  leave 
Grey  Sultan  at  the  entrance,  he  led  me  through 
the  long  archway  or  tunnel.  At  the  end  we 
paused  again,  he  watching,  while  I  drew  difficult 
breath     .     .     . 

I  saw  a  vast  amphitheatre  of  granite,  curving 
away  on  either  hand  and  reaching  up,  tier  on  tier, 
till  the  tiers  melted  in  the  gi'ey  sky  overhead. 
The  lowest  tier  stood  twenty  feet  above  my  head; 
yet  curved  with  so  lordly  a  perspective  that  on  the 
far  side  of  the  arena,  as  I  looked  across,  it  seemed 
almost  level  with  the  ground;  while  the  human 
figures  about  the  great  archway  yonder  were  dimin- 
ished to  the  size  of  ants  about  a  hole  . 
For  there  were  human  figures  busy  in  the  arena, 
though  not  a  so\d  sat  in  any  of  the  granite  tiers 

above.     A  million  eyes  had  been  less  awful  than 

15 


OCEANUS 

sun  broke  yellow  on  the  climbing  tiers  of  seats. 
"  Harry!  someone  is  watching  behind  those  cur- 
tains!    Is  it— HE?" 

Harry  bent  his  head. 

"  But  this  is  all  that  I  believed !  This  is  Nero, 
and  ten  times  worse  than  l^ero!  Why  did  you 
bring  me  here?"  I  flung  out  my  hand  towards 
the  pur]3le  throne,  and  finding  myself  close  to  a 
fellow  who  scattered  sawdust  mth  both  hands, 
made  a  spring  to  tear  his  mask  away.  But  Harry 
stretched  out  an  arm. 

"  That  will  not  help  you,"  he  said.  "  The  man 
has  no  face." 

"IS^oface!" 

"  He  once  had  a  face,  but  it  has  perished.  His 
was  the  face  of  these  sufferers.     Look  at  them," 

I  looked  from  cage  to  cage,  and  now  saw  that 
indeed  all  these  sufferers — men  and  women — had 
but  one  face:  the  same  wrung  brow,  the  same 
wistful  eyes,  the  same  lips  bitten  in  anguish.  I 
knew  the  face.     We  all  hnow  it. 

"  His  own  Son !  O  devil  rather  than  God !  "  I 
fell  on  my  knees  in  the  gushing  water  and  covered 
my  eyes. 

"  Stand  up,  listen  and  look !  "  said  Harry's  voice. 

"What    can    I    see?      He    hides    behind    that 


curtain." 


18 


OCEANUS 

"  And  the  curtain  ?  " 

"  It  shakes  continually." 

"  That  is  with  His  sobs.  Listen!  Wliat  of  the 
water?  " 

"  It  runs  from  the  throne  and  about  the  floor. 
It  washes  off  the  blood." 

"  That  water  is  His  tears.  It  flows  hence  do\vn 
the  hill,  and  washes  all  the  shores  of  earth." 

Then  as  I  stood  silent,  conning  the  eddies  at  my 
feet,  for  the  first  time  Harry  took  my  hand. 

"  Learn  this,"  he  said,  "  There  is  no  suffering 
in  tlie  world  but  ultimately  comes  to  be  endured 
by  God." 

Saying  this,  he  drew  me  from  the  spot:  gently, 
very  gently  led  me  away;  but  spoke  again,  as  we 
were  about  to  pass  into  the  shadow  of  the  arch — 

"  Look  once  back:    for  a  moment  onlv." 

I  looked.  The  curtains  of  the  imperial  seat  were 
still  drawn  close,  but  in  a  flash  I  saw  the  tiers 
beside  it,  and  around,  and  away  up  to  the  sunlit 
crown  of  the  amphitheatre,  thronged  with  forms 
in  white  raiment.  And  all  these  forms  leaned 
fonvard  and  bowed  their  faces  on  their  arms  and 
wept. 

So  we  passed  out  beneath  the  archway.     Grey 

Sultan  stood  outside,  and  as  I  mounted  him  the 

gate  clashed  beliind.     .     .     . 

19 


OCEANUS 


IV 


I  TUENED  as  it  clashed.  And  the  gate  was  just 
the  lodge-gate  of  Sevenhays.  And  Grey  Sultan 
was  trampling  the  gravel  of  our  o^vn  drive.  The 
morning  sun  slanted  over  the  laurels  on  my  right, 
and  while  I  wondered,  the  stable  clock  struck 
eight. 

The  rest  I  leave  to  you;  nor  shall  try  to  ex- 
plain. I  only  know  that,  vision  or  no  vision,  my 
soul  from  that  hour  has  gained  a  calm  it  never 
knew  before.  The  sufferings  of  my  fellows  still 
afflict  me;  but  always,  if  I  stand  still  and  listen, 
in  my  own  room,  or  in  a  crowded  street,  or  in  a 
waste  spot  among  tlie  moors,  I  can  hear  those 
waters  moving  round  the  world — moving  on  their 
"  priest-like  task  "—those  lustral  divine  tears  which 
are  Oceanus. 


20 


II 

THE   SEVENTH   MAN 

In  a  one-roomed  hut,  high  within  the  Arctic  Circle, 
and  only  a  little  south  of  the  eightieth  parallel,  six 
men  were  sitting — much  as  they  had  sat,  evening 
after  evening,  for  months.  They  had  a  clock,  and 
by  it  they  divided  the  hours  into  day  and  night. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  always  night.  But  the 
clock  said  half-past  eight,  and  they  called  the  time 
evening. 

The  hut  was  built  of  logs,  w^itli  an  inner  skin 
of  rough  match-boarding,  daubed  with  pitch.  It 
measured  seventeen  feet  by  fourteen;  but  opposite 
the  door  four  bunks — two  above  and  two  below — 
took  a  yard  off  the  length,  and  this  made  the  in- 
terior exactly  square.  Each  of  these  bunks  had 
two  doors,  with  brass  latches  on  the  inner  side;  so 
that  the  owner,  if  he  chose,  could  shut  himself  up 
and  go  to  sleep  in  a  sort  of  cupboard.  But  as  a 
rule,  he  closed  one  of  them  only — that  by  his  feet. 

The  other  swung  back,  with  its  brass  latch  show- 

21 


THE   SEVENTH   MAN" 

ing.  The  men  kept  these  latches  in  a  high  state 
of  polish. 

Across  the  angle  of  the  wall,  to  the  left  of  the 
door,  and  behind  it  when  it  opened,  three  ham- 
mocks were  slung,  one  above  another.  No  one 
slept  in  the  uppermost. 

But  the  feature  of  the  hut  was  its  fireplace ;  and 
this  was  merely  a  square  hearth-stone,  raised  slight- 
ly above  the  floor,  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  Up- 
on it,  and  upon  a  growing  mountain  of  soft  grey 
ash,  the  fire  burned  always.  It  had  no  chimney, 
and  so  the  men  lost  none  of  its  warmth.  The 
smoke  ascended  steadily  and  spread  itself  under  the 
blackened  beams  and  roof-boards  in  dense  blue  lay- 
ers. But  about  eighteen  inches  beneath  the  spring 
of  the  roof  there  ran  a  line  of  small  trap-doors  with 
sliding  panels,  to  admit  the  cold  air,  and  below  these 
the  room  was  almost  clear  of  smoke.  A  newcom- 
er's eyes  might  have  smarted,  but  these  men 
stitched  their  clothes  and  read  in  comfort.  To 
keep  the  up-draught  steady  they  had  plugged  every 
chink  and  crevice  in  the  match-boarding  below  the 
trap-doors  with  moss,  and  payed  the  seams  with 
pitch.  The  fire  they  fed  from  a  stack  of  drift  and 
wreck  wood  piled  to  the  right  of  the  door,  and  fuel 
for  the  fetching  strewed  the  frozen  beach  outside 

— whole  trees  notched  into  lengths  by  lumberers' 

23 


THE    SEVENTH    MAN 

axes  and  washed  thither  from  they  knew  not  what 
continent.  Bnt  the  wreck-wood  came  from  their 
own  ship,  the  J.  R.  MacNeill,  which  had  brought 
them  from  Dundee. 

They  were  Alexander  Williamson,  of  Dundee, 
better  known  as  The  Gaffer;  David  Faed,  also  of 
Dundee;  George  Lashman,  of  Cardiff;  Long  Ede, 
of  Hayle,  in  Cornwall;  Charles  Silchester,  other- 
wise The  Snipe,  of  Ratcliff  Highway  or  there- 
abouts; and  Daniel  Cooney,  shipped  at  Tromso  six 
weeks  before  the  wreck,  an  Irish-American  by 
birth  and  of  no  known  address. 

The  Gaffer  reclined  in  his  bunk,  reading  by  the 
light  of  a  smoky  and  evil-smelling  lamp.  He  had 
been  mate  of  the  /.  R.  MacNeill,  and  was  now 
captain  as  well  as  patriarch  of  the  party.  He  pos- 
sessed three  books — the  Bible,  Milton's  "  Paradise 
Lost,"  and  an  odd  volume  of  "  The  Turkish  Spy." 
Just  now  he  was  reading  "  The  Turkish  Spy."  The 
lamplight  glinted  on  the  rim  of  his  spectacles  and 
on  the  silvery  hairs  in  his  beard,  the  slack  of  which 
he  had  tucked  under  the  edge  of  his  blanket.  His 
lips  moved  as  he  read,  and  now  and  then  he  broke 
off  to  glance  mildly  at  Faed  and  the  Snipe,  who 
were  busy  beside  the  fire  with  a  greasy  pack  of 
cards;    or  to  listen  to  the  peevish  grumbling  of 

Lashman  in  the  bunk  below  him.     Lashman  had 

23 


THE   SEVENTH   MAN 

taken  to  his  bed  six  weeks  before  with  scurvy,  and 
complained  incessantly;  and  though  they  hardly 
knew  it,  these  complaints  were  wearing  his  com- 
rades' nerves  to  fiddle-strings — doing  the  mischief 
that  cold  and  bitter  hard  work  and  the  cruel  lone- 
liness had  hitherto  failed  to  do.  Long  Ede  lay 
stretched  by  the  fire,  in  a  bundle  of  skins,  reading 
in  his  only  book,  the  Bible,  open  now  at  the  Song 
of  Solomon.  Cooney  had  finished  patching  a  pair 
of  trousers,  and  rolled  himself  in  his  hammock, 
whence  he  stared  at  the  roof  and  the  moonlight 
streaming  up  there  through  the  little  trap-doors  and 
chivying  the  layers  of  smoke.  Whenever  Lash- 
man  broke  out  into  fresh  quaverings  of  self-pity, 
Cooney's  hands  opened  and  shut  again,  till  the  nails 
dug  hard  into  the  palm.  He  groaned  at  length, 
exasperated  beyond  endurance. 

"  Oh,  stow  it,  George !    Hang  it  all,  man !  .    .    ." 

He  checked  himself,  sharp  and  short:  repentant, 
and  rebuked  by  the  silence  of  the  others.  They 
were  good  seamen  all,  and  tender  dealing  with  a 
sick  shipmate  was  part  of  their  code. 

Lashman's  voice,  more  querulous  than  ever,  cut 
into  the  silence  like  a  knife — 

"  That's  it.     You've  thought  it  for  weeks,  and 

now  you  say  it.     I've  knowed  it  all  along.     I'm 

just  an  encumbrance,  and  the  sooner  you're  shut 

24 


THE    SKVENTII    MAN 

of  me  the  better,  says  you.  You  needn't  to  fret. 
I'll  be  soon  out  of  it;  out  of  it — out  there,  along- 
side of  Bill " 

"  Easy  there,  matey."  The  Snipe  glanced  over 
his  shoulder  and  laid  his  cards  face  downward. 
"  Here,  let  me  give  the  bed  a  shake  up.  It'll  ease 
yer." 

"  It'll  make  me  quiet,  you  mean.  Plucky  deal 
you  care  about  easin'  me,  any  of  yer!  " 

"  Get  out  with  yer  nonsense!  Dan  didn'  mean 
it."  The  Snipe  slipped  an  arm  under  the  invalid's 
head  and  rearranged  the  pillow  of  skins  and  gunny- 
bags. 

"He  didn't,  didn't  he?  Let  him  say  it 
then     ..." 

The  Gaffer  read   on,   his  lips  moving  silently. 

Heaven  knows  how  he  had  acquired  this  strayed 

and  stained  and  filthy  little  demi-octavo  with  the 

arms  of  Saumarez  on  its  book-plate — "  The  Sixth 

Volume  of  Letters  writ  by  a  Turkish  Spy,  who 

liv'd  Five-and-Forty  Years  Undiscovered  at  Paris: 

Giving  an  Impartial  Account  to  the  Divan  at  Con- 

siantinople  of  the  most  remarkable  Transactions  of 

Europe,    And   discovering   several   Intrigues   and 

Secrets  of  the  Christian  Courts  (especially  of  that 

of  France)"   etc.,   etc.     "  Written   originally   in 

ArabicTc.      Translated    into    Italian,    and    from 

25 


THE    SEVENTH    MAN 

thence  into  English  by  the  Translator  of  the 
First  Volume.  The  Eleventh  Edition.  London: 
Printed  for  G.  Strahan,  S.  Ballard  " — and  a  score 
of  booksellers — "  mdccxli."  Heaven  knows  why- 
he  read  it;  since  he  understood  about  one-half,  and 
admired  less  than  one-tenth.  The  Oriental  reflec- 
tions struck  him  as  mainly  blasphemous.  But  the 
Gaffer's  religious  belief  marked  down  nine-tenths 
of  mankind  for  perdition :  which  perhaps  made  him 
tolerant.  At  any  rate,  he  read  on  gravely  be- 
tween the  puffs  of  his  short  clay — 

On  the  19th  of  this  Moon,  the  King  and  the  whole 
Court  ivere  present  at  a  Ballet,  representing  the 
grandeur  of  the  French  monarchy.  About  the  Mid- 
dle of  the  Entertainment,  there  loas  an  Antique 
Dance  performed  by  twelve  Masqueraders,  in  the 
supposed  form  of  Daemons.  But  before  they  had 
advanced  far  in  their  Dance,  they  found  an  Inter- 
loper amongst  'em,  ivho  by  encreasing  the  Number  to 
thirteen,  put  them  quite  out  of  their  Measure:  For 
they  practise  every  Step  and  Motion  beforehand,  till 
they  are  perfect.  Being  abasltd  therefore  at  the  un- 
avoidable Blunders  the  thirteenth  Antique  made  them 
covfimit,  they  stood  still  like  Fools,  gazing  at  one  an- 
other :  None  daring  to  unmask,  or  speak  a  Word;  for 
that  would  have  put  all  the  Spectators  into  a  Dis- 
order and  Confusion.  Cardinal  Mazarini  {who  loas 
the  chief  Contriver  of  these  Entertainments,  to  divert 

26 


THE    SEVENTH    MAN 

the  King  from  7nore  serious  ThougJds)  stood  close  by 
the  young  Monarch,  loith  (he  Scheme  of  the  Ballet  in 
his  Hand.  Knoioing  therefore  that  this  Dance  was 
to  consist  hut  of  twelve  Antiques,  and  taking  notice 
that  there  loere  actually  thirteen,  he  at  first  irtiputed 
it  to  some  Mistahe.  But,  afterwards,  when  he  per- 
ceived the  confusion  of  the  Dancers,  he  made  a  more 
narroio  Enquiry  into  the  Cause  of  this  Disorder. 
To  he  hrief  they  convinced  the  Cardinal  that  it  coidd 
he  no  Error  of  theirs,  by  a  kind  of  Demonstration, 
in  that  they  had  hid  twelve  Antique  Dresses  of  that 
sort,  ivhich  ivere  made  on  purpose  for  this  particular 
Ballet.  That  ivhich  made  it  seem  the  greater  3Iys- 
tery  ivas,  that  lohen  they  came  hehind  the  Scenes  to 
uncase,  and  examine  the  Matter,  they  found  hut 
twelve  Antiques,  Whereas  on  the  Stage  there  were 
thirteen.     .     .     ." 

"  Let  him  say  it.  Let  him  say  he  didn't  mean  it, 
the  rotten  Irishman!  " 

Cooney  flung  a  leg  wearily  over  the  side  of  his 
hammock,  jerked  himself  out,  and  shuffled  across 
to  the  sick  man's  berth, 

"  Av  coorse  I  didn'  mane  it.     It  just  took  me,  ye 

see,  lyin'  up  yondher  and  huggin'  me  thoughts  in 

this — wilderness,     I  swear  to  ye,  George :  and  ye'll 

just  wet  your  throat  to  show  there's  no  bad  blood, 

and  that  ye  belave  me."     He  took  up  a  pannikin 

from  the  floor  beside  the  bunk,  pulled  a  hot  iron 

27 


THE    SEVENTH   MAN 

from  tlie  fire,  and  stirred  the  frozen  drink.  Tlie 
invalid  turaed  his  shoulder  pettishly.  "  I  didn't 
mane  it,"  Cooney  repeated.  He  set  down  the  pan- 
nikin, and  shufiled  wearily  back  to  his  hammock. 

The  Gaffer  blew  a  long  cloud  and  stared  at  the 
fire ;  at  the  smoke  mounting  and  the  grey  ash  drop- 
ping; at  David  Faed  dealing  the  cards  and  licking 
his  thumb  between  each.  Long  Ede  shifted  from 
one  cramped  elbow  to  another  and  pushed  his 
Bible  nearer  the  blaze,  murmuring,  "  Take  us  the 
foxes,  the  little  foxes,  that  spoil  our  vines." 

"  Full  hand,"  the  Snipe  announced. 

"  Ay."  David  Faed  rolled  the  quid  in  his 
cheek.  The  cards  were  so  thumbed  and  tattered 
that  by  the  backs  of  them  each  player  guessed 
pretty  shrewdly  what  the  other  held.  Yet  they 
went  on  playing  night  after  night ;  the  Snipe  shrilly 
blessing  or  cursing  his  luck,  the  Scotsman  phleg- 
matic as  a  bolster. 

"  Play  away,  man.     What  ails  ye?  "  he  asked. 

The  Snipe  had  dropped  both  hands  to  his  thighs 
and  sat  up,  stiff  and  listening. 

"Whist!     Outside  the  door.     .     .     ." 

All  listened.  "  I  hear  nothing,"  said  David,  af- 
ter ten  seconds. 

"  Hush,  man — listen !     There,  again     .     .     ." 

They  heard  now.     Cooney  slipped  down  from 

28 


THE   SEVENTH   MAN 

his  hammock,  stole  to  the  door  and  listened,  crouch- 
ing, with  his  ear  close  to  the  jamb.  The  sound 
resembled  breathing — or  so  he  thought  for  a  mo- 
ment. Then  it  seemed  rather  as  if  some  creature 
were  softly  feeling  about  the  door— fumbling  its 
coating  of  ice  and  frozen  snow. 

Cooney  listened.  They  all  listened.  Usually, 
as  soon  as  they  stirred  from  the  scorching  circle  of 
the  fire,  their  breath  came  from  them  in  clouds.  It 
trickled  from  them  now  in  thin  wisps  of  vapour. 
They  could  almost  hear  the  soft  grey  ash  dropping 
on  the  hearth. 

A  log  spluttered.  Then  the  invalid's  voice  clat- 
tered in — 

"  It's  the  bears — the  bears!  They've  come  after 
Bill,  and  next  it'll  be  my  turn.  I  warned  you — I 
told  you  he  wasn't  deep  enough.  O  Lord,  have 
mercy  .  .  .  mercy  .  .  .!  "  He  pattered 
off  into  a  prayer,  his  voice  and  teeth  chattering. 

"Hush!"  commanded  the  Gaffer  gently;  and 
Lash  man  choked  on  a  sob. 

"  It  ain't  bears,"  Cooney  reported,  still  with  his 
ear  to  the  door.  ''  Leastways  .  .  .  we've  had 
bears  before.  The  foxes,  maybe  ...  let  me 
listen." 

Long  Ede  murmured:  "Take  us  the  foxes,  the 

little  foxes     .     .     ." 

29 


THE    SEVENTH    MAN 


(C 


I  believe  you're  right/'  tlie  Gaffer  announced 
cheerfully.  "  A  bear  would  sniff  louder — though 
there's  no  telling.  The  snow  was  falling  an  hour 
back,  and  I  dessay  'tis  pretty  thick  outside.  If 
'tis  a  bear,  we  don't  want  him  fooling  on  the  roof, 
and  I  misdoubt  the  drift  by  the  north  corner  is 
pretty  tall  by  this  time.     Is  he  there  still?  " 

"  I  felt  something  then  ,  .  .  through  the 
chink,  here  .  .  .  like  a  warm  breath.  It's 
gone  now.     Come  here.  Snipe,  and  listen." 

"  '  Breath,'  eh?     Did  it  sjnell  like  bear?  " 

"  I  don't  know  ...  I  didn't  smell  noth- 
ing, to  notice.     Here,  put  your  head  down,  close." 

The  Snipe  bent  his  head.  And  at  that  moment 
the  door  shook  gently.  All  stared;  and  saw  the 
latch  move  up,  up  .  .  .  and  falteringly  de- 
scend on  the  staple.     They  heard  the  click  of  it. 

The  door  was  secured  within  by  two  stout  bars. 
Against  these  there  had  been  no  pressure.  The 
men  waited  in  a  silence  that  ached.  But  the  latch 
was  not  lifted  again. 

The    Snipe,    kneeling,    looked    up    at    Cooney. 

Cooney  shivered  and  looked  at  David  Faed.     Long 

Ede,  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  softly  shook  his  feet 

free  of  the  rugs.     His  eyes  searched  for  the  Gaffer's 

face.     But  the  old  man  had  drawn  back  into  the 

gloom  of  his  bunk,  and  the  lamplight  shone  only  on 

30 


THE   SEVENTH   MAN 

a  grey  fringe  of  beard.  He  saw  Long  Ede's  look, 
though,  and  answered  it  qnietly  as  ever. 

"  Take  a  brace  of  guns  aloft,  and  fetch  us  a  look 
round.  Wait,  if  there's  a  chance  of  a  shot.  The 
trap  works.  I  tried  it  this  afternoon  with  the  cold 
chisel." 

Long  Ede  lit  his  pipe,  tied  down  the  ear-pieces  of 
his  cap,  lifted  a  light  ladder  off  its  staples,  and  set 
it  against  a  roof -beam:  then,  with  the  guns  under 
his  arm,  quietly  mounted.  His  head  and  shoul- 
ders wavered  and  gi'ew  vague  to  sight  in  the  smoke- 
wreaths.  "Heard  anything  more?"  he  asked. 
"  Nothing  since,"  answered  the  Snipe.  With  his 
shoulder  Long  Ede  pushed  up  the  trap.  They  saw 
his  head  framed  in  a  panel  of  moonlight,  with  one 
frosty  star  above  it.  He  was  wriggling  through. 
"  Pitch  him  up  a  sleeping-bag,  somebody,"  the 
Gaffer  ordered,  and  Cooney  ran  with  one.  "  Thank 
'ee,  mate,"  said  Long  Ede,  and  closed  the  trap. 

They  heard  his  feet  stealthily  crunching  the 
frozen  stuff  across  the  roof.  He  was  working  tow- 
ards the  eaves  over-lapping  the  door.  Their  breath 
tightened.  They  waited  for  the  explosion  of  his 
gam.  None  came.  The  crunching  began  again: 
it  was  heard  down  by  the  very  edge  of  the  eaves. 
It  mounted  to  the  blunt  ridge  overhead;  then  it 

ceased. 

31 


THE   SEVENTH   MAN 

"  He  will  not  have  seen  aught,"  David  Faed 
muttered. 

"  Listen,  you.  Listen  by  the  door  again."  They 
talked  in  whispers.  Nothing;  there  was  nothing 
to  be  heard.  They  crept  back  to  the  fire,  and  stood 
there  warming  themselves,  keeping  their  eyes  on 
the  latch.  It  did  not  move.  After  a  while  Cooney 
slipped  off  to  his  hammock ;  Faed  to  his  bunk,  along- 
side Lashman's.  The  Gaffer  had  picked  up  his 
book  again.  The  Snipe  laid  a  couple  of  logs  on 
the  blaze,  and  remained  beside  it,  cowering,  with 
his  arms  stretched  out  as  if  to  embrace  it.  His 
shapeless  shadow  wavered  up  and  down  on  the 
bunks  behind  him;  and,  across  the  fire,  he  still 
stared  at  the  latch. 

Suddenly  the  sick  man's  voice  quavered  out — 

"  It's  not  him  they  want — it's  Bill.  They're  af- 
ter Bill,  out  there!  That  was  Bill  trying  to  get 
in,  .  .  .  Why  didn't  yer  open?  It  was  Bill, 
I  tell  yer!  " 

At  the  first  word  the  Snipe  had  wheeled  right- 
about-face, and  stood  now,  pointing,  and  shalcing 
like  a  man  with  ague. 

"  Matey     .     .     .     for  the  love  of  God    .    .    ." 

"  I  won't  hush.     There's  something  wrong  here 

to-night.     I  can't  sleep.     It's  Bill,  I  tell  yer.     See 

his  poor  hammock  up  there  shaking.     .     .     ." 

32 


THE   SEVENTH   MAN 

Coonej  tumbled  out  with  an  oath  and  a  tluid. 
"  Hush  it,  you  white-livered  swine !  Hush  it,  or 
by "  His  hand  went  behind  him  to  his  knife- 
sheath. 

"  Dan  Cooney  " — the  Gaffer  closed  his  book  and 
leaned  out — "  go  back  to  your  bed." 

"  I  won't,  Sir.     Not  unless " 

"  Go  back." 

"  Flesh  and  blood " 

"  Go  back."  And  for  the  third  time  that  night 
Cooney  went  back. 

The  Gaffer  leaned  a  little  farther  over  the  ledge 
and  addressed  the  sick  man. 

"  George,  I  went  to  Bill's  grave  not  six  hours 
agone.  The  snow  on  it  \vasn't  even  disturbed. 
Neither  beast  nor  man,  but  only  God,  can  break  up 
the  hard  earth  he  lies  under.  I  tell  you  that,  and 
you  may  lay  to  it.     Now  go  to  sleep." 


* 


Long  Ede  crouched  on  the  frozen  ridge  of  the 

hut,  with  his  feet  in  the  sleeping-bag,  his  knees 

dra^vn  up,  and  the  two  guns  laid  across  them.     The 

creature,  whatever  its  name,  that  had   tried  the 

door,  was  nowhere  to  be  seen;  but  he  decided  to 

wait  a  few  minutes  on  the  chance  of  a  shot;  that  is, 

33 


THE   SEVENTH   MAN 

until  the  cold  should  drive  him  below.  For  the 
moment  the  clear  tingling  air  was  doing  him  good. 
The  truth  was  Long  Ede  had  begun  to  be  afraid  of 
himself,  and  the  way  his  mind  had  been  running 
for  the  last  forty-eight  hours  upon  green  fields  and 
visions  of  spring.  As  he  put  it  to  himself,  some- 
thing inside  his  head  was  melting.  Biblical  texts 
chattered  within  him  like  running  brooks,  and  as 
they  fleeted  he  could  almost  smell  the  blown 
meadow-scent.  "  Take  us  the  foxes,  the  little 
foxes  .  .  .  for  our  vines  have  tender  gTapes 
A  fountain  of  gardens,  a  well  of  living 
waters,  and  streams  from  Lebanon  .  . 
Awake,  O  north  wind,  and  come,  thou  south 
.  blow  upon  my  garden,  that  the  spices  there- 
of may  flow  out  .  .  ."  He  was  light-headed, 
and  he  knew  it.  He  must  hold  out.  They  were  all 
going  mad;  were,  in  fact,  three  parts  crazed  al- 
ready, all  except  the  Gaffer.  And  the  Gaffer  re- 
lied on  him  as  his  right-hand  man.  One  glimpse 
of  the  returning  sun — one  glimpse  only — might 
save  them  yet. 

He  gazed  out  over  the  frozen  hills,  and  north- 
ward across  the  ice-j)ack.  A  few  streaks  of  pale 
violet — the  ghost  of  the  Aurora — fronted  the 
moon.     He  could  see  for  miles.     Bear  or  fox,  no 

living  creature  was  in  sight.     But  who  could  tell 

34 


THE   SEVENTH   MAN" 

what  might  be  hiding  bcliiiul  anj  one  of  a  thousand 
hummocks?  Ho  listened.  He  heard  the  slow 
grinding  of  the  ice-pack  off  the  beach:  only  that. 
"  Take  us  the  foxes,  the  little  foxes.     .     .     ." 

This  would  never  do.  He  must  climb  down  and 
walk  briskly,  or  return  to  the  hut.  Maybe  there 
was  a  bear,  after  all,  behind  one  of  tlie  hnmmocks, 
and  a  shot,  or  the  clianco  of  one,  W(juld  scatter  his 
head  clear  of  these  tom-fooling  notions.  He  would 
have  a  search  round. 

What  was  that,  moving  .  .  .  on  a  hum- 
mock, not  five  hundred  yards  away?  He  leaned 
forward  to  gaze. 

Nothing  now:  but  he  had  seen  something.  He 
lowered  himself  to  the  eaves  by  the  north  corner, 
and  from  the  eaves  to  the  drift  piled  there.  The 
drift  was  frozen  solid,  but  for  a  treacherous  crust 
of  fresh  snow.  His  foot  slipped  upon  this,  and 
down  he  slid  of  a  heap. 

Luckily  he  had  been  careful  to  sling  the  guns 
tightly  at  his  back.  He  picked  himself  up,  and 
unstrapping  one,  took  a  step  into  the  bright  moon- 
light to  examine  the  nipples;  took  two  steps:  and 
stood  stock-still. 

There,  before  him,  on  the  frozen  coat  of  snow, 

was    a   footprint.     No:    two,    three,    four — many 

footprints:  prints  of  a  naked  human  foot:  right  foot, 

35 


THE    SEVENTH    MAN 

left  foot,  both  naked,  and  blood  in  each  print — a 
little  smear. 

It  had  come,  then.  He  was  mad  for  certain. 
He  saw  them:  he  put  his  fingers  in  them;  touched 
the  frozen  blood.  The  snow  before  the  door  was 
trodden  thick  with  them — some  going,  some  retui*n- 
ing. 

"The  latch  .  .  .  lifted  .  .  ."  Sud- 
denly he  recalled  the  figure  he  had  seen  moving  up- 
on the  hummock,  and  with  a  groan  he  set  his  face 
northward  and  gave  chase.  Oh,  he  was  mad  for 
certain!  He  ran  like  a  madman — floundering, 
slipping,  plunging  in  his  clumsy  moccasins.  "  Take 
us  the  foxes,  the  little  foxes  .  .  .  My  beloved 
put  in  his  hand  by  the  hole  of  the  door,  and  my 
bowels  were  moved  for  him  ...  I  charge 
you,  O  daughters  of  Jerusalem.  ...  I 
charge  you     ...     I  charge  you     .     .     ." 

He  ran  thus  for  three  hundred  yards  maybe,  and 
then  stopped  as  suddenly  as  he  had  started. 

His  mates — they  must  not  see  these  footprints, 

or  they  would  go  mad  too:  mad  as  he.     No,  he 

must  cover  them  up,  all  within  sight  of  the  hut. 

And  to-morrow  he  would  come  alone,  and  cover 

those  farther  afield.     Slowly  he  retraced  his  steps. 

The  footprints — those  which  pointed  towards  the 

hut  and  those  which  pointed  away  from  it — lay 

30 


THE   SEVENTH   MAN 

close  together;  and  lie  knelt  before  each,  In-eaking 
fresh  snow  over  the  hollows  and  carefully  hiding 
the  blood.  And  now  a  great  happiness  filled  his 
heart;  interrupted  once  or  twice  as  he  worked  by  a 
feeling  that  someone  was  following  and  watching 
him.  Once  he  turned  northwards  and  gazed,  mak- 
ing a  telescope  of  his  hands.  He  saw  nothing,  and 
fell  again  to  his  long  task. 

»  *  *  *  * 

"Within  the  hut  the  sick  man  cried  softly  to  him- 
self. Faed,  the  Snipe,  and  Cooney  slept  uneasily, 
and  muttered  in  their  dreams.  The  Gaffer  lay 
awake,  thinking.  After  Bill,  George  Lashman; 
and  after  George  ,  .  .  ?  Who  next?  And 
who  would  be  the  last — the  unburied  one?  The 
men  were  weakening  fast;  their  wits  and  courage 
coming  down  at  the  last  with  a  rush.  Faed  and 
Long  Ede  were  the  only  two  to  be  depended  on  for 
a  day.  The  Gaffer  liked  Long  Ede,  who  was  a  re- 
ligious man.  Indeed  he  had  a  growing  suspicion 
that  Long  Edo,  in  spite  of  some  amiable  laxities  of 
belief,  was  numbered  among  the  Elect:  or  might 
be,  if  interceded  for.  The  Gaffer  began  to  inter- 
cede for  him  silently;  but  experience  had  tauglit 

him  that  such  "  wrestlings,"  to  be  effective,  must 

37 


THE    SEVENTH    MAN 

be  noisy,  and  he  dropped  off  to  sleep  with  a  sense 
of  failure     .     .     . 

The  Snipe  stretched  himself,  yawned,  and  awoke. 
It  was  seven  in  the  morning :  time  to  j)repare  a  cup 
of  tea.  He  tossed  an  armful  of  logs  on  the  fire,  and 
the  noise  awoke  the  Gaffer,  who  at  once  inquired 
for  Long  Ede.  He  had  not  returned.  ^'  Go  you 
up  to  the  roof.  The  lad  must  be  frozen."  The 
Snij)e  climbed  the  ladder,  pushed  open  the  trap, 
and  came  back,  reporting  that  Long  Ede  was  no- 
where to  be  seen.  The  old  man  slipped  a  jumper 
over  his  suits  of  clothing — already  three  deep — 
reached  for  a  gun,  and  moved  to  the  door.  "  Take 
a  cup  of  something  warm  to  fortify,"  the  Snipe  ad- 
vised. "  The  kettle  won't  be  five  minutes  boiling." 
But  the  Gaffer  pushed  up  the  heavy  bolts  and 
dragged  the  door  open. 

"  What  in  the  .  .  . !  Here,  bear  a  hand, 
lads!  " 

Long  Ede  lay  prone  before  the  threshold,  his  out- 
stretched hands  almost  touching  it,  his  moccasins 
already  covered  out  of  sight  by  the  powdery  snow 
which  ran  and  trickled  incessantly — trickled  be- 
tween his  long,  dishevelled  locks,  and  over  the  back 
of  his  gloves,  and  ran  in  a  thin  stream  past  the 

Gaffer's  feet. 

38 


THE   SEVENTH    MAN 

They  carried  liim  in  and  laid  him  on  a  heap  of 
skins  by  the  fire.  They  forced  rum  between  his 
clenched  teeth  and  beat  his  hands  and  feet,  and 
kneaded  and  rubbed  him.  A  sigh  fluttered  on  his 
lips:  something  between  a  sigh  and  a  smile,  half 
seen,  half  heard.  His  eyes  opened,  and  his  com- 
rades saw  that  it  was  really  a  smile. 

"Wot  cheer,  mate?"  It  was  the  Snipe  who 
asked. 

"  I — I  seen  .  .  ."  The  voice  broke  off,  but 
he  was  smiling  still. 

What  had  he  seen?  Not  the  sun,  surely!  By 
the  Gaffer's  reckoning  the  sun  would  not  be  due 
for  a  week  or  two  yet:  how  many  weeks  he  could 
not  say  precisely,  and  sometimes  he  was  glad 
enough  that  he  did  not  know. 

They  forced  him  to  drink  a  couple  of  spoonfuls 
of  rum,  and  -wTapped  him  up  warmly.  Each  man 
contributed  some  of  his  own  bedding.  Then  the 
Gaffer  called  to  morning  prayers,  and  the  three 
sound  men  dropped  on  their  knees  with  him.  Now, 
whether  by  reason  of  their  joy  at  Long  Ede's  re- 
covery, or  because  the  old  man  was  in  splendid 
voice,  they  felt  their  hearts  uplifted  that  morning 
with  a  cheerfulness  they  had  not  known  for  months. 
Long  Ede  lay  and  listened  dreamily  while  the  pas- 
sion of  the  Gaffer's  thanksgiving  shook  the  hut. 

39 


THE    SEVENTH   MAN 

His  gaze  wandered  over  their  bowed  forms — "  The 
Gaffer,  David  Faed,  Dan  Cooney,  the  Snipe,  and 
— and  George  Lashman  in  his  bnnk,  of  course — 
and  me."  But,  then,  wJio  was  the  seventh?  He 
began  to  count.  "  There's  myself — Lashman,  in 
his  bunk — David  Faed,  the  Gaffer,  the  Snipe,  Dan 
Coonej  .  .  .  One,  two,  three,  four — well, 
but  that  made  seven.  Then  who  was  the  seventh? 
Was  it  George  who  had  crawled  out  of  bed  and  was 
kneeling  there?  Decidedly  there  were  five  kneel- 
ing. No:  there  was  George,  plain  enough,  in  his 
berth,  and  not  able  to  move.  Then  who  was  the 
stranger?  Wrong  again:  there  was  no  stranger. 
He  knew  all  these  men — they  were  his  mates.  Was 
it — Bill?  No,  Bill  was  dead  and  buried:  none  of 
these  was  Bill,  or  like  Bill.  Try  again — One,  two, 
three,  four,  five — and  us  two  sick  men,  seven.  The 
Gaffer,  David  Faed,  Dan  Cooney — have  I  counted 
Dan  twice?  No,  that's  Dan,  yonder  to  the  right, 
and  only  one  of  him.  Five  men  kneeling,  and  two 
on  their  backs :  that  makes  seven  every  time.    Dear 

God — suppose " 

The  Gaffer  ceased,  and  in  the  act  of  rising  from 
his  knees,  caught  sight  of  Long  Ede's  face.  While 
the  others  fetched  their  breakfast-cans,  he  stepped 
over,  and  bent  and  whispered — 

"  Tell  me.     Ye've  seen  what?  " 

40 


THE   SEVENTH   MAN 

"  Seen?  "  Long  Ede  echoed. 

"  A  J,  seen  what?  Speak  low — was  it  the 
sun?" 

"  The  s "     But  this  time  the  echo  died  on 

his  lips,  and  his  face  grew  full  of  awe  uncompre- 
hending.    It  frightened  the  Gaffer. 

"  Ye'll  be  the  bette?  of  a  snatch  of  sleep,"  said 
he;  and  was  turning  to  go,  when  Long  Ede  stirred 
a  hand  under  the  edge  of  his  rugs. 

"  Seven  .  .  .  count  .  .  ."  he  whis- 
pered. 

"  Lord  have  mercy  upon  us!  "  the  Gaffer  mut- 
tered to  his  beard  as  he  moved  away,  "  Long  Ede ; 
gone  crazed!  " 

And  yet,  though  an  hour  or  two  ago  this  had 
been  the  worst  that  could  befall,  the  Gaffer  felt  un- 
usually cheerful.  As  for  the  others,  they  werc-like 
different  men,  all  that  day  and  through  the  three 
days  that  followed.  Even  Lashman  ceased  to  com- 
plain, and,  unless  their  eyes  played  them  a  trick, 
had  taken  a  turn  for  the  better.  "  I  declare,  if  I 
don't  feel  like  pitching  to  sing!  "  the  Snipe  an- 
nounced on  the  second  evening,  as  much  to  his  own 
wonder  as  to  theirs.  "  Then  why  in  thunder  don't 
you  strike  up?  "  answered  Dan  Cooney,  and  fetched 
his  concertina.     The   Snipe  stmck  up,   then  and 

there— "  Villikins    and    his    Dinah"!      AVliat    is 

41 


THE    SEVENTH    MAN 

more,  the  Gaffer  looked  up  from  his  "  Paradise 
Lost,"  and  joined  in  the  chorus. 

By  the  end  of  the  second  day.  Long  Ede  was  up 
and  active  again.  He  went  about  with  a  dazed  look 
in  his  eyes.  He  was  counting,  counting  to  himself, 
always  counting.  The  Gaffer  watched  him  fur- 
tively. 

Since  his  recovery,  though  his  lips  moved  fre- 
quently. Long  Ede  had  scarcely  uttered  a  word. 
But  towards  noon  on  the  fourth  day  he  said  an  ex- 
traordinary thing. 

"  There's  that  sleeping-bag  I  took  with  me  the 
other  night.  I  wonder  if  'tis  on  the  roof  still.  It 
will  be  froze  pretty  stiff  by  this.  You  might  nip 
up  and  see.  Snipe,  and  " — he  paused — "  if  you  find 
it,  stow  it  up  yonder  on  Bill's  hammock." 

The  Gaffer  opened  his  mouth,  but  shut  it  again 
without  speaking.     The  Snipe  went  up  the  ladder. 

A  minute  passed;  and  then  they  heard  a  cry  from 
the  roof — a  cry  that  fetched  them  all  trembling, 
choking,  weeping,  cheering,  to  the  foot  of  the  lad- 
der. 

"Boys!    boys!— the  Sun!" 

-:fr  *  *  *  4e- 

Months  later — it  was  June,   and  even  George 

Lashman  had  recovered  his  strength — the   Snipe 

43 


THE   SEVENTH   MAN 

came  running  with  news  of  the  whaling  fleet.  And 
on  the  beach,  as  they  watched  the  vessels  come  to 
anchor,  Long  Ede  told  the  Gaffer  his  story.  "  It 
was  a  hall — a  hallu — what  d'ye  call  it,  I  reckon. 
1  was  crazed,  eh?"  The  Gaffer's  eyes  wandered 
from  a  brambling  hopping  about  the  lichen-covered 
boulders,  and  away  to  the  sea-fowl  wheeling  above 
the  ships:  and  then  came  into  his  mind  a  tale  he 
liad  read  once  in  "The  Turkish  Spy."  "I 
wouldn't  say  just  that,"  he  answered  slowly. 

"  Anyway,"  said  Long  Ede,  "  I  believe  the  Lord 
sent  a  miracle  to  us  to  save  us  all." 

"  I  wouldn't  say  just  that,  either,"  the  Gaffer 
objected.  "  I  doubt  it  was  meant  just  for  you  and 
me,  and  the  rest  were  presairved,  as  you  might  say, 
incidentally." 


43 


Ill 

THE   ROOM   OF   MIRRORS 

A  LATE  hansom  came  swinging  round  the  corner 
into  Lennox  Gardens,  cutting  it  so  fine  that  the 
near  wheel  ground  against  the  kerb  and  jolted  the 
driver  in  his  little  seat.  The  jingle  of  bells  might 
have  warned  me;  but  the  horse's  hoofs  came  noise- 
lessly on  the  half-frozen  snow,  which  lay  just  deep 
enough  to  hide  where  the  pavement  ended  and  the 
road  began;  and,  moreover,  I  was  listening  to  the 
violins  behind  the  first-floor  windows  of  the  house 
opposite.  They  were  playing  the  "  Wiener  Blut." 
As  it  was,  I  had  time  enough  and  no  more  to 
skip  back  and  get  my  toes  out  of  the  way.  The 
cabby  cursed  me.  I  cursed  him  back  so  promptly 
and  effectively  that  he  had  to  turn  in  his  seat  for 
another  shot.  The  windows  of  the  house  opposite 
let  fall  their  light  across  his  red  anrl  astonished 
face.  I  laughed,  and  gave  him  another  volley. 
My  head  was  hot,  though  my  feet  and  hands  were 

cold;    and  I  felt  equal  to  cursing  down  any  cab- 

44 


THE    ROOM    OF    MIRKORS 

man  witliin  the  four-mile  radius.  That  second 
volley  finished  him.  lie  turned  to  his  reins  again 
and  was  borne  away  defeated;  the  red  eyes  of  his 
lamps  peering  back  at  me  like  an  angry  ferret's. 

Up  in  the  lighted  room  shadows  of  men  and 
women  crossed  the  blinds,  and  still  the  "  Wiener 
Blut  "  went  forward. 

The  devil  was  in  that  waltz.  He  had  hold  of 
the  violins  and  was  weaving  the  air  with  scents 
and  visions — visions  of  Ascot  and  Henley;  green 
lawns,  gay  sunshades,  midsummer  heat,  cool  rivers 
flowing,  muslins  rippled  by  light  breezes;  run- 
ning horses  and  silken  jackets;  white  tables  heaped 
with  roses  and  set  with  silver  and  crystal,  jewelled 
fingers  moving  in  the  soft  candle-light,  bare  necks 
bending,  diamonds,  odours,  bubbles  in  the  wine; 
blue  water  and  white  foam  beneath  the  leaning 
shadow  of  sails;  hot  air  flickering  over  stretches 
of  moorland;  blue  again — Mediterranean  blue — 
long  facades,  the  din  of  bands  and  King  Carnival 
parading  beneath  showers  of  blossom: — and  all 
this  noise  and  warmth  and  scent  and  dazzle  flung 
out  into  the  frozen  street  for  a  beggar's  portion. 
I  had  gone  under. 

The  door  of  the  house  opposite  had  been  free 

to  me  once — and  not  six  months  ago;    freer  to 

me  perhaps  than  to  any  other.     Did  I  long  to 

45 


THE    ROOM    OF    MIRROES 

pass  behind  it  again?       I  thrust  both  hands  into 
mj    pockets    for    warmth,    and    mj    right    hand 
knocked   against  something  hard.      Yes 
just  once.     .     .     . 

Suddenly  the  door  opened.  A  man  stood  on 
the  threshold  for  a  moment  while  the  butler  be- 
hind him  arranged  the  collar  of  his  fur  overcoat. 
The  high  light  in  the  portico  flung  the  shadows  of 
both  down  the  crimson  carpet  laid  on  the  entrance- 
steps.  Snow  had  fallen  and  covered  the  edges  of 
the  carpet,  which  divided  it  like  a  cascade  of  blood 
pouring  from  the  hall  into  the  street.  And  still 
overhead  the  "  Wiener  Blut "  went  forward. 

The  man  paused  in  the  bright  portico,  his  patent- 
leather  boots  twinkling  under  the  lamp's  rays  on 
that  comfortable  carpet.  I  waited,  expecting  him 
to  whistle  for  a  hansom.  But  he  turned,  gave  an 
order  to  the  butler,  and  stepping  briskly  down 
into  the  street,  made  off  eastwards.  The  door  closed 
behind  him.  He  was  the  man  I  most  hated  in 
the  world.  If  I  had  longed  to  cross  the  threshold 
a  while  back  it  was  to  seek  him,  and  for  no  other 
reason. 

I  started  to  follow  him,  my  hands  still  in  my 
pockets.  The  snow  muffled  our  footfalls  com- 
pletely, for  as  yet  the  night  north-east  wind  had 

frozen  but  the  thinnest  crust  of  it.     He  was  walk- 

46 


THE    ROOM    OF    MIRRORS 

ing  briskly,  as  men  do  in  such  weather,  but  with 
no  appearance  of  hurry.  At  the  corner  of  Sloane 
Street  he  halted  under  a  lamp,  pulled  out  his 
watch,  consulted  it,  and  lit  a  cigarette;  then  set 
off  again  up  the  street  towards  Knightsbridge. 

This  halt  of  his  had  let  me  up  within  twenty 
paces  of  him.  He  never  turned  his  head;  but 
went  on  presenting  me  his  back,  a  target  not  to 
be  missed.  Why  not  do  it  now?  Better  now  and 
here  than  in  a  crowded  thoroughfare.  My  right 
hand  gripped  the  revolver  more  tightly.  No, 
there  was  plenty  of  time:  and  I  was  curious  to 
know  what  had  brought  Gervase  out  at  this  hour: 
why  he  had  left  his  guests,  or  his  wife's  guests,  to 
take  care  of  themselves :  why  he  chose  to  be  trudg- 
ing afoot  through  this  infernally  unpleasant  snow. 

The  roadway  in  Sloane  Street  was  churned  into 
a  brown  mass  like  chocolate,  but  the  last  'bus  had 
rolled  home  and  left  it  to  freeze  in  peace.  Half- 
way up  the  street  I  saw  Gervase  meet  and  pass  a 
policeman,  and  altered  my  own  pace  to  a  lagging 
walk.  Even  so,  the  fellow  eyed  me  suspiciously 
as  I  went  by — or  so  I  thought:  and  guessing  that 
he  kept  a  watch  on  me,  I  dropped  still  further  be- 
hind my  man.  But  the  lamps  were  bright  at  the 
end  of  the  street,  and  I  saw  him  turn  to  the  right 
by  the  great  drapery  shop  at  the  corner. 


THE    ROOM    OF    MIRROES 

Once  past  tliis  corner  I  was  able  to  put  on  a 
spurt.  He  crossed  the  roadway  by  the  Albert 
Gate,  and  by  tlie  time  he  reached  the  Park  rail- 
ings the  old  distance  separated  us  once  more.  Half- 
way up  the  slope  he  came  to  a  halt,  by  the  stone 
drinking-trough ;  and  flattening  myself  against  the 
railings,  I  saw  him  try  the  thin  ice  in  the  trough 
with  his  finger-tips,  but  in  a  hesitating  way,  as  if 
his  thoughts  ran  on  something  else  and  he  scarcely 
knew  what  he  did  or  why  he  did  it.  It  must  have 
been  half  a  minute  before  he  recovered  himself 
with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  and  plunging  both 
hands  deep  in  his  pockets,  resumed  his  pace. 

As  we  passed  Hyde  Park  Corner  I  glanced  up 
at  the  clock  there:  the  time  was  between  a  quar- 
ter and  ten  minutes  to  one.  At  the  entrance  of 
Down  Street  he  tm*ned  aside  again,  and  began  to 
lead  me  a  zigzag  dance  through  the  quiet  thor- 
oughfare: and  I  followed,  still  to  the  tune  of  the 
"  Wiener  Blut." 

But  now,  at  the  comer  of  Charles  Street  I  blun- 
dered against  another  policeman,  who  flashed  his 
lantern  in  my  face,  stared  after  Gervase,  and 
asked  me  what  my  game  was.  I  demanded  in- 
nocently enough  to  be  shown  the  nearest  way  to 
Oxford   Street,   and   the   fellow,   after   pausing   a 

moment  to  chew  his  suspicions,  walked  with  me 

48 


THE    EOOM    OF    MIRRORS 

slowly  to  the  south-west  comer  of  Berkeley  Square, 
and  pointed  northwards. 

"  That's  your  road,"  he  growled,  "  straight  on. 
And  don't  you  forget  it!  " 

He  stood  and  watched  me  on  my  way.  Nor 
did  I  dare  to  turn  aside  until  well  clear  of  the 
square.  At  the  crossing  of  Davies  and  Grosvenor 
Streets,  however,  I  supposed  myself  safe,  and  halted 
for  a  moment. 

From  the  shadow  of  a  porch  at  my  elbow  a  thin 
voice  accosted  me. 

"  Kind  gentleman " 

"Heh?"  I  spun  round  on  her  sharply:  for  it 
was  a  woman,  stretching  out  one  skinny  hand  and 
gathering  her  rags  together  with  the  other. 

"  Kind  gentleman,  spare  a  copper.  I've  known 
better  days — I  have  indeed." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  as  it  happens,  I'm  in  the  same 
case.  And  they  couldn't  be  much  worse,  could 
they?" 

She  drew  a  shuddering  breath  back  through 
her  teeth,  but  still  held  out  her  hand.  I  felt  for 
my  last  coin,  and  her  fingers  closed  on  it  so 
sharply  that  their  long  nails  scraped  the  back  of 
mine. 

"  Kind  gentleman " 

"Ay,  they  are  kind,  are  they  not?" 

49 


THE    KOOM    OF    MIEEOES 

She  stared  at  me,  and  in  a  nerveless  tone  let 
one  horrible  oath  escape  her. 

"  There'll  be  one  less  before  morning,"  said  I, 
"  if  that's  any  consolation  to  you.  Good  night !  " 
Setting  off  at  a  shuffling  run,  I  doubled  back  along 
Grosvenor  Street  and  Bond  Street  to  the  point 
where  I  hoped  to  pick  up  the  trail  again.  And 
just  there,  at  the  issue  of  Bruton  Street,  two  con- 
stables stood  ready  for  me. 

"  I  thought  as  much,"  said  the  one  who  set  me 
on  my  way.  "Hi,  you!  AVait  a  moment,  please;  " 
then  to  the  other,  "  Best  turn  his  pockets  out, 
Jim." 

"  If  you  dare  to  try "  I  began,  with  my 

hand  in  my  pocket:  the  next  moment  I  found 
myself  sprawling  face  downward  on  the  sharp 
crust  of  snow. 

"Hullo,  constables!"  said  a  voice.  "What's 
the  row?  "  It  was  Gervase.  He  had  turned  leis- 
urely back  from  the  slope  of  Conduit  Street,  and 
came  strolling  down  the  road  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets. 

"  This  fellow,  Sir — we  have  reason  to  think  he 
was  followin'  you." 

"  Quite    right,"    Gervase    answered   cheerfully, 

"  of  course  he  was." 

"  Oh,  if  you  knew  it.  Sir " 

50 


THE    ROOM    OP   MIRRORS 

"  Certainly  I  knew  it.  In  fact,  he  was  follow- 
ing at  ray  invitation." 

"What  for  did  he  tell  me  a  lie,  then?"  gnim- 
bled  the  constable,  ehapfallen. 

I  had  picked  myself  up  by  this  time  and  was 
wiping  my  face.  "  Look  here,"  I  put  in,  "  I 
asked  you  the  way  to  Oxford  Street,  that  and  noth- 
ing else."  And  I  went  on  to  summarise  my  opin- 
ion of  him. 

"Oh!  it's  you  can  swear  a  bit,"  he  growled. 
"  I  heard  you  just  now." 

"  Yes,"  Gervase  interposed,  suavely,  drawing 
the  glove  from  his  right  hand  and  letting  flash  a 
diamond  finger-ring  in  the  lamp-light.  "  He  is  a 
bit  of  a  beast,  policeman,  and  it's  not  for  the  pleas- 
ure of  it  that  I  want  his  company." 

A  sovereign  passed  from  hand  to  hand.  The 
other  constable  had  discreetly  drawn  off  a  pace 
or  two. 

"  All  the  sanve,  it's  a  rum  go." 

"Yes,  isn't  it?"  Gervase  assented  in  his  hearti- 
est tone.  "  Here  is  my  card,  in  case  you're  not 
satisfied." 

"  If  you^rr  satisfied,  Sir " 

"  Quite  so.  Good  night!  "  Gervase  thrust  both 
hands  into  his  pockets  again  and  strode  off.  I  fol- 
lowed him,   with   a  heart  hotter  than  ever — fol- 

51 


THE    ROOM    OF   MIEEORS 

lowed  him  like  a  whipped  cur,  as  tliev  say.  Yes, 
tliat  was  just  it.  He  who  had  already  robbed  me 
of  everything  else  had  now  kicked  even  the  ped- 
estal from  under  me  as  a  figure  of  tragedy.  Five 
minutes  ago  I  had  been  the  implacable  avenger 
tracking  my  unconscious  victim  across  the  city. 
Heaven  knows  how  small  an  excuse  it  was  for  self- 
respect;  but  one  who  has  lost  character  may  yet 
chance  to  catch  a  dignity  from  circumstances;  and 
to  tell  the  truth,  for  all  my  desperate  earnestness 
I  had  allowed  my  vanity  to  take  some  artistic  sat- 
isfaction in  the  sinister  chase.  It  had  struck  me 
— shall  I  say? — as  an  effective  ending,  nor  had  I 
failed  to  note  that  the  snow  lent  it  a  romantic  touch. 
And  behold,  the  unconscious  victim  knew  all 
about  it,  and  had  politely  interfered  when  a  couple 
of  unromantic  "  Bobbies  "  threatened  the  perform- 
ance by  tumbling  the  stalking  avenger  into  the 
gutter!  They  had  knocked  my  tragedy  into  harle- 
quinade as  easily  as  you  might  bash  in  a  hat;  and 
my  enemy  had  refined  the  cruelty  of  it  by  coming 
to  the  rescue  and  ironically  restarting  the  poor 
play  on  lines  of  comedy.  I  saw  too  late  that  I 
ought  to  have  refused  his  help,  to  have  assaulted 
the  constable  and  been  hauled  to  the  police-station. 
Kot  an  impressive  wind-up,  to  be  sure;    but  less 

humiliating  than  this!      Even  so,  Gervase  might 

52 


THE    EOOM    OF    MIRRORS 

have  trumped  the  poor  card  by  following  with  a 
gracious  oifer  to  bail  me  out! 

As  it  was,  I  had  put  the  whip  into  his  hand, 
and  must  follow  him  like  a  cur.  The  distance  he 
kept  assured  me  that  the  similitude  had  not  es- 
caped him.  He  strode  on  without  deigning  a  sin- 
gle glance  behind,  still  in  cold  derision  presenting 
me  his  broad  back  and  silently  challenging  me  to 
shoot.  And  I  followed,  hating  him  worse  than 
ever,  swearing  that  the  last  five  minutes  should 
not  be  forgotten,  l)ut  charged  for  royally  when  the 
reckoning  came  to  be  paid. 

I  followed  thus  up  Conduit  Street,  up  Regent 
Street,  and  across  the  Circus.  The  frost  had  deep- 
ened and  the  mud  in  the  roadway  crackled  under 
our  feet.  At  the  Circus  I  began  to  guess,  and 
when  Gervase  struck  off  into  Great  Portland  Street, 
and  thence  by  half-a-dozen  turnings  northward  by 
east,  I  knew  to  what  house  he  was  leading  me. 

At  the  entrance  of  the  side  street  in  which  it 
stood  he  halted  and  motioned  me  to  come  close. 

"  I  forget,"  he  said  with  a  jerk  of  his  thumb, 
"  if  you  still  have  the  entry.  These  people  are 
not  particular,  to  be  sure." 

"  I  have  not,"  I  answered,  and  felt  my  cheeks 

burning.     He  could  not  see  this,  nor  could  I  see 

the  lift  of  his  eyebrows  as  he  answered — 

53 


THE    EOOM    OF    MIEEOES 

"Ah?  I  hadn't  heard  of  it.  .  .  .  You'd 
better  step  round  by  the  mews,  then.  You  know 
the  window,  the  one  which  opens  into  the  passage 
leading  to  Pollox  Street.  Wait  there.  It  may  be 
ten  minutes  before  I  can  open," 

I  nodded.  The  house  was  a  corner  one,  between 
the  street  and  a  by-lane  tenanted  mostly  by  cab- 
men; and  at  the  back  of  it  ran  the  mews  where 
they  stabled  their  horses.  Half-way  down  this 
mews  a  narrow  alley  cut  across  it  at  right  angles: 
a  passage  unfrequented  by  traffic,  known  only  to 
the  stablemen,  and  in  the  daytime  used  only  by 
their  children,  who  played  hop-scotch  on  the  flagged 
pavement,  where  no  one  interrupted  them.  You 
wondered  at  its  survival — from  end  to  end  it  must 
have  measured  a  good  fifty  yards — in  a  district 
where  every  square  foot  of  ground  fetched  money; 
until  you  learned  that  the  house  had  belonged,  in 
the  'twenties,  to  a  nobleman  who  left  a  name  for 
eccentric  profligacy,  and  who,  as  owner  of  the  land, 
could  afford  to  indulge  his  humours.  The  estate 
since  his  death  was  in  no  position  to  afi^ord  money 
for  alterations,  and  the  present  tenants  of  the  house 
found  the  passage  convenient  enough. 

My  footsteps  disturbed  no  one  in  the  sleeping 

mews;    and  doubling  back  noiselessly  through  the 

passage,  I  took  up  my  station  beside  the  one  low 

04 


THE    EOOM    OF    MIRRORS 

window  which  opened  upon  it  from  the  blank  back 
premises  of  the  house.  Even  with  the  glimmer  of 
snow  to  help  me,  I  had  to  grope  for  the  window- 
sill  to  make  sure  of  my  bearings.  The  minutes 
crawled  by,  and  the  only  sound  came  from  a  stall 
where  one  of  the  horses  had  kicked  through  his 
thin  straw  bedding  and  was  shuffling  an  uneasy 
hoof  upon  the  cobbles.  Then  just  as  I  too  had 
begun  to  shuffle  my  frozen  feet,  I  heard  a  scratch- 
ing sound,  the  unbolting  of  a  shutter,  and  Ger- 
vase  drew  up  the  sash  softly. 

"  ISTip  inside !  "  he  whispered.  "  l^o  more  noise 
than  you  can  help.  I  have  sent  off  the  night 
porter.  He  tells  me  the  bank  is  still  going  in  the 
front  of  the  house — half-a-dozen  playing,  perhaps." 

I  hoisted  myself  over  the  sill,  and  dropped  in- 
side. The  wall  of  this  annexe — which  had  no 
upper  floor,  and  invited  you  to  mistake  it  for  a 
harmless  studio — was  merely  a  sheath,  so  to  speak. 
Within,  a  corridor  divided  it  from  the  true  wall 
of  the  room:  and  this  room  had  no  window  or 
top-light,  though  a  handsome  one  in  the  roof — a 
dummy — beguiled  the  eyes  of  its  neighbours. 

There  was  but  one  room :   an  apartment  of  really 

fine  proportions,  never  used  by  the  tenants  of  the 

house,  and  known  but  to  a  few  curious  ones  among 

its  frequenters. 

55 


THE    ROOM    OF    MIRRORS 

The  storj  went  that  the  late  owner,  Earl  C , 

had  reason  to  believe  himself  persistently  cheated 
at  cards  by  his  best  friends,  and  in  particular  by  a 
Duke  of  the  Blood  Royal,  who  could  hardly  be 
accused  to  his  face.  The  Earl's  sense  of  honour 
forbade  him  to  accuse  any  meaner  man  while  the 
big  culprit  went  unrebuked.  Therefore  he  con- 
tinued to  lose  magnificently  while  he  devised  a 
new  room  for  play:  the  room  in  which  I  now  fol- 
lowed Gervase. 

I  had  stood  in  it  once  before  and  admired  the 
courtly  and  costly  thoroughness  of  the  Earl's  re- 
buke. I  had  imagined  him  conducting  his  expec- 
tant guests  to  the  door,  ushering  them  in  with  a 
wave  of  the  hand,  and  taking  his  seat  tranquilly 
amid  the  dead,  embarrassed  silence:  had  imagined 
him  facing  the  Royal  Duke  and  asking,  "  Shall  we 
cut  ? "  with  a  voice  of  the  politest  inflection. 

For  the  room  was  a  sheet  of  mirrors.  Mirrors 
panelled  the  walls,  the  doors,  the  very  backs  of 
the  shutters.  The  tables  had  mirrors  for  tops:  the 
whole  ceiling  was  one  vast  mirror.  From  it  de- 
pended three  great  candelabra  of  cut-glass,  set  with 
reflectors  here,  there,  and  everywhere. 

I  had  heard  that  even  the  floor  was  originallv 

of  polished  brass.     If  so,  later  owners  must  have 

ripped  up  thep  lates  and  sold  them:    for  now  a 

56 


THE    ROOM    OF    MIRRORS 

few  cheap  Oriental  rugs  carpeted  the  unpolished 
boards.  The  place  was  abominably  dusty:  the 
striped  yellow  curtains  had  lost  half  their  rings 
and  drooped  askew  from  their  soiled  vallances. 
Across  one  of  the  wall-panels  ran  an  ugly  scar. 
A  smell  of  rat  pervaded  the  air.  The  present 
occupiers  had  no  use  for  a  room  so  obviously  un- 
suitable to  games  of  chance,  as  they  understood 
chance:  and  I  doubt  if  a  servant  entered  it  once 
a  month.  Gervase  had  ordered  candles  and  a  fire: 
but  the  chimney  was  out  of  practice,  and  the  smoke 
wreathed  itself  slowly  about  us  as  we  stood  sur- 
rounded by  the  ghostly  company  of  our  reflected 
selves. 

"  We  shall  not  be  disturbed,"  said  Gervase. 
"I  told  the  man  I  was  expecting  a  friend,  that 
our  business  was  private,  and  that  until  he  called 
I  wished  to  be  alone.  I  did  not  explain  by  what 
entrance  I  expected  him.  The  people  in  the  front 
cannot  hear  us.  Have  a  cigar? "  He  pushed  the 
open  case  towards  me.  Then,  as  I  drew  back, 
"  You've  no  need  to  be  scrupulous,"  he  added, 
"  seeing  that  they  were  bought  with  your  money." 

"  If  that's  so,  I  will,"  said  I;   and  having  chosen 

one,  stnick  a  matcli.     Glancing  round,   I  saw  a 

hundred  small  flames  spurt  up,  and  a  hundred  men 

hold  them  to  a  hundred  glowing  cigar-tips. 

57 


THE    EOOM    OF    MIRROES 

"  After  you  with  the  match."  Gervase  took  it 
from  me  with  a  steady  hand.  He,  too,  glanced 
about  him  while  he  puffed.  "  Ugh !  "  He  blew 
a  long  cloud,  and  shivered  within  his  furred  over- 
coat.    "  What  a  gang!  " 

"  It  takes  all  sorts  to  make  a  world,"  said  I 
fatuously,  for  lack  of  anything  better. 

"  Don't  be  an  infernal  idiot !  "  he  answered, 
flicking  the  dust  off  one  of  the  gilt  chairs,  and 
afterwards  cleaning  a  space  for  his  elbow  on  the 
looking-glass  table.  "  It  takes  only  two  sorts  to 
make  the  world  we've  lived  in,  and  that's  you 
and  I."  He  gazed  slowly  round  the  walls.  "  You 
and  I,  and  a  few  fellows  like  us — not  to  mention 
the  women,  who  don't  count." 

"  AVell,"  said  I,  "  as  far  as  the  world  goes — if 
you  must  discuss  it — I  always  found  it  a  good 
enough  place." 

"Because  you  started  as  an  unconsidering  fool: 
and  because,  afterwards,  when  we  came  to  grips, 
you  were  the  under-dog,  and  I  gave  you  no  time. 
My  word — how  I  have  hustled  you!  " 

I  yawned.  "All  right:  I  can  wait.  Only  if 
you  suppose  I  came  here  to  listen  to  your  moral 
reflections " 

He  pulled  tlic  cigar  from  between  his  teeth  and 

looked  at  me  along  it. 

58 


THE    ROOM    OF    MIRRORS 

"  I  know  perfectly  well  why  yoii  came  here," 
he  said  slowly,  and  paused.  "  Hadn't  we  better 
have  it  out — with  the  cards  on  tlio  table?  "  He 
drew  a  small  revolver  from  his  pocket  and  laid  it 
with  a  light  clink  on  the  table  before  him.  I 
hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  followed  his  example, 
and  the  silent  men  around  us  did  the  same. 

A  smile  curled  his  thin  lips  as  he  observed  this 
multiplied  gesture.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  as  if  to  him- 
self, "  that  is  what  it  all  comes  to." 

"  And  now,"  said  I,  "  since  you  know  my  pur- 
pose here,  perhaps  you  will  tell  me  youi's." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  am  trying  to  explain. 
Only  you  are  so  impatient,  and  it — well,  it's  a 
trifle  complicated."  He  puffed  for  a  moment  in 
silence.  "  Koughly,  it  might  be  enough  to  say  that 
I  saw  you  standing  outside  my  house  a  while  ago; 
that  I  needed  a  talk  with  you  alone,  in  some  pri- 
vate place;  that  I  guessed,  if  you  saw  me,  you 
would  follow  with  no  more  invitation;  and  that, 
so  reasoning,  I  led  you  here,  where  no  one  is  likely 
to  interrupt  us." 

"Well,"  I  admitted,  "all  that  seems  plain 
sailing." 

"  Quite  so ;  but  it's  at  this  point  the  thing  grows 
complicated."  He  rose,  and  walking  to  the  fire- 
place, turned  his  back  on  me  and  spread  his  palms 

50 


THE    EOOM    OF    MIERORS 

to  the  blaze.  "  Well,"  lie  asked,  after  a  moment, 
gazing  into  the  mirror  before  liim,  "  why  don't 
you  shoot?  " 

I  thrust  my  hands  into  my  trouser-pockets  and 
leaned  back  staring — I  daresay  sulkily  enough — 
at  the  two  revolvers  within  grasp.  "  I've  got  my 
code,"  I  muttered. 

"  The  code  of — these  mirrore.  You  won't  do 
the  thing  because  it's  not  the  thing  to  do;  because 
these  fellows  " — he  waved  a  hand  and  the  ghosts 
waved  back  at  him — "  don't  do  such  things,  and 
you  haven't  the  nerve  to  sin  off  your  own  bat. 
Come  " — he  strolled  back  to  his  seat  and  leaned 
towards  me  across  the  table — "  it's  not  much  to 
boast  of,  but  at  this  eleventh  hour  we  must  snatch 
what  poor  credit  we  can.  You  are,  I  suppose,  a 
more  decent  fellow  for  not  having  fired:  and 
I By  the  way,  you  did  feel  the  temptation?  " 

I  nodded.  "  You  may  put  your  money  on  that. 
I  never  see  you  without  wanting  to  kill  you. 
What's  more,  I'm  going  to  do  it." 

"  And  I,"  he  said,  "  knew  the  temptation  and 
risked  it.  No:  let's  be  honest  about  it.  There 
was  no  risk:  because,  my  good  Sir,  I  know  you 
to  a  hair." 

"  There  was,"  I  growled. 

"  Pardon  me,   there   was   none.      I   came   here 

60 


THE    ROOM    OF    MIRRORS 

having  a  word  to  say  to  you,  and  these  mirrors 
have  taught  nie  how  to  say  it.  Take  a  look  at 
them — the  world  wc  are  leaving — that's  it:  and  a 
cursed  second-hand,  second-class  one  at  that." 

He  paced  slowly  round  on  it,  slewing  his  body 
in  the  chair. 

"  I  say  a  second-class  one,"  he  resumed,  "  be- 
cause, my  dear  Keggie,  when  all's  said  and  done, 
we  are  second-class,  the  pair  of  us,  and  pretty  bad 
second-class.  I  met  you  first  at  Harrow.  Our 
fathers  had  money:  they  wished  us  to  be  gentle- 
men without  well  understanding  what  it  meant: 
and  with  unlimited  pocket-money  and  his  wits 
about  him  any  boy  can  make  himself  a  power  in 
a  big  school.  That  is  what  we  did:  towards  the 
end  we  even  set  the  fashion  for  a  certain  <5et;  and 
a  rank  bad  fashion  it  was.  But,  in  truth,  we  had 
no  business  there:  on  every  point  of  breeding  we 
were  outsiders.  I  suspect  it  was  a  glimmering 
consciousness  of  this  that  made  us  hate  each  other 
from  the  firet.  AVe  understood  one  anotlier  too 
well.  Oh,  there's  no  mistake  about  it!  Whatever 
we've  missed  in  life,  you  and  T  have  hated." 

He  paused,  eyeing  me  queerly.  I  kept  my 
hands  in  my  pockets.     "  Go  on,"  I  said. 

"  From  ITan'ow^  we  went  to  College — the  same 

business  over  again.     We  drifted,  of  course,  into 

Gl 


THE    ROOM    OF   MIRROES 

the  same  set;  for  already  we  had  become  neces- 
sary to  each  other.  We  set  the  pace  of  that  set 
— were  its  apparent  leaders.  But  in  truth  we  were 
alone — you  and  I — as  utterly  alone  as  two  ship- 
wrecked men  on  a  raft.  The  others  were  shadows 
to  us:  we  followed  their  code  because  we  had  to 
be  gentlemen,  but  we  did  not  understand  it  in  the 
least.  For,  after  all,  the  roots  of  that  code  lay  in 
the  breeding  and  tradition  of  honour,  with  which 
we  had  no  concern.  To  each  other  you  and  I  were 
intelligible  and  real;  but  as  concerned  that  code 
and  the  men  who  followed  it  by  right  of  birth 
and  nature,  we  were  looking-glass  men  imitating 
— imitating — imitating." 

"  AVe  set  the  pace,"  said  I.  "  You've  allowed 
that." 

"  To  be  sure  we  did.  We  even  modified  the  code 
a  bit — to  its  hurt;  though  as  conscious  outsiders 
we  could  dare  very  little.  For  instance,  the  talk 
of  our  associates  about  women — and  no  doubt  their 
thoughts,  too — grew  sensibly  baser.  The  sanctity 
of  gambling  debts,  on  the  other  hand,  we  did  noth- 
ing to  impair:  because  we  had  money.  I  recall 
your  virtuous  indignation  at  the  amount  of  paper 

floated  by  poor  W towards  the  end  of  the 

great  baccarat  term.     Poor  devil!     He  paid  up — 

or  his  father  did — and  took  his  name  off  the  books. 

G2 


THE    EOOM    OF   MIRKORS 

He's  in  Ceylon  now,  I  believe.  At  length  you 
have  earned  a  partial  right  to  sympathise:  or  would 
have  if  only  you  had  paid  up." 

"  Take  care,  Gervase." 

"  My  good  Su",  don't  miss  my  point.     Wasn't  I 

just    as    indignant   with    W ?      If    I'd    been 

warned  bif  Newmarket  Heath,  if  I'd  been  shown 
the  door  of  the  hell  we're  sitting  in,  shouldn't  I 
feel  just  as  you  are  feeling?    Try  to  understand!  " 

"  You  forget  Elaine,  I  think." 

"m:  I  do  not  forget  Elaine.  We  left  Col- 
lege: I  to  add  money  to  money  in  my  father's 
office;  you  to  display  your  accomplishments  in 
spending  what  your  father  had  earned.  That  was 
the  extent  of  the  difference.  To  both  of  us,  money 
and  the  indulgence  it  buys  meant  everything  in 
life.  All  I  can  boast  of  is  the  longer  sight.  The 
office-hours  were  a  nuisance,  I  admit:  but  I  was 
clever  enough  to  keep  my  hold  on  the  old  set; 
and  then,  after  office-hours,  I  met  you  constantly, 
and  studied  and  hated  you — studied  you  because 
I  hated  you.  Elaine  came  between  us.  You  fell 
in  love  with  her.  That  I,  too,  should  fall  in  love 
with  her  was  no  coincidence,  but  the  severest  of 
logic.  Given  such  a  woman  and  two  such  men, 
no  other  course  of  fate  is  conceivable.     She  made 

it  necessary  for  me  to  put  hate  into  practice.     If 

63 


THE    EOOM    OF   MIEEOES 

she  had  not  offered  herself,  why,  then  it  would 
have  been  somebody  else:  that's  all.  Good  Lord!  " 
he  rapped  the  table,  and  his  voice  rose  for  the  first 
time  above  its  level  tone  of  exposition,  "  you  don't 
suppose  all  my  study — all  my  years  of  education 
— were  to  be  wasted !  " 

He  checked  himself,  eyed  me  again,  and  re- 
sumed in  his  old  voice — 

"  You  wanted  money  by  this  time.  I  was  a 
solicitor — your  old  college  friend — and  you  came 
to  me.  I  knew  you  would  come,  as  surely  as  I 
knew  you  would  not  fire  that  pistol  just  now.  For 
years  I  had  trained  myself  to  look  into  your  mind 
and  anticipate  its  working.  Don't  I  tell  you  that 
from  the  first  you  were  the  only  real  creature  this 
world  held  for  me?  You  were  my  only  book,  and 
I  had  to  learn  you:  at  first  without  fixed  purpose, 
then  deliberately.  And  when  the  time  came  I 
put  into  practice  what  I  knew:  just  that  and 
no  more.  My  dear  Reggie,  you  never  had  a 
chance." 

"  Elaine?  "  I  muttered  again. 

"  Elaine  was  the  girl  for  you — or  for  me:  just 
that  again  and  no  more." 

"  By  George !  "  said  I,  letting  out  a  laugh.    "  If 

I  thought  that!" 

"  What? " 

64 


THE    ROOM    OF    MIRRORS 

"  Why,  that  after  ruining  me,  you  have  missed 
being  happy!  " 

He  sighed  impatiently,  and  his  eyes,  though  he 
kept  them  fastened  on  mine,  seemed  to  be  tiring. 
"  I  thought,"  he  said,  "  I  could  time  your  intelli- 
gence over  any  fence.  But  to-night  there's  some- 
thing wrong.  Either  I'm  out  of  practice  or  your 
brain  has  been  going  to  the  deuce.  What,  man! 
You're  shying  at  every  bank!  Is  it  drink,  hey? 
Or  hunger?  " 

"  It  might  be  a  little  of  both,"  I  answered. 
"  But  stay  a  moment  and  let  me  get  things  straight. 
I  stood  between  you  and  Elaine — no,  give  me  time 
— between  you  and  your  aims,  whatever  they  were. 
Very  well.  You  trod  over  me;  or,  rather,  you 
pulled  me  up  by  the  roots  and  pitched  me  into 
outer  darkness  to  rot.  And  now  it  seems  that, 
after  all,  you  are  not  content.  In  the  devil's  name, 
why?" 

"Why?  Oh,  cannot  you  see?  .  .  .  Take  a 
look  at  these  mirrors  again — our  world,  I  tell  you. 
See — you  and  I — you  and  I — always  you  and  II 
Man,  I  pitched  you  into  darkness  as  you  say,  and 
then  I  woke  and  knew  the  truth — that  you  were 
necessary  to  me." 

"Hey?" 

"  /  canH  do  without  you  !  "    It  broke  from  him 

65 


THE    EOOM    OF    MIRRORS 

in  a  ciy.  "  So  help  me  God,  Reggie,  it  is  thet 
teuth!  " 

I  stared  in  bis  face  for  half  a  minute  maybe, 
and  broke  out  laughing.  "  Jeshurun  waxed  fat 
and — turned  sentimental!  A  nice  copy-book  job 
you  make  of  it,  too ! 

Oh,  send  my  brother  back  to  me — 
/  cannot  play  alone  ! 

Perhaps  you'd  like  me  to  buy  a  broom  and  hire 
the  crossing  in  Lennox  Gardens?  Then  you'd  be 
able  to  contemplate  me  all  day  long,  and  nourish 
your  fine  fat  soul  with  delicate  eating.  Pah !  You 
make  me  sick." 

"  It's  the  truth,"  said  he  quietly. 

"  It  may  be.  To  me  it  looks  a  sight  more  like 
foie  gras.  Can't  do  without  me,  can't  you?  Well, 
I  can  jolly  well  do  without  you,  and  I'm  going  to." 

"  I  warn  you,"  he  said:  "  I  have  done  you  an 
injury  or  two  in  my  time,  but  by  George  if  I 
stand  up  and  let  you  shoot  me — well,  I  hate  you 
badly  enough,  but  I  won't  let  you  do  it  without 
fair  warning." 

"  I'll  risk  it  anyway,"  said  I. 

"  Very   well."      He   stood   up,   and   folded   his 

arms.     "  Shoot,  then,  and  be  hanged!  " 

G6 


THE    ROOM    OF    MIRRORS 

I  j)ut   out  nij  hand  to  the  revohcr,  hesitated, 
and  withdrew  it. 

"  Tliat's  not  the  way,"  I  said,  "  I've  got  my 
code,  as  I  told  you  before." 

"  Does  the  code  forbid  suicide?  "  he  asked. 

"  That's  a  different  thing." 

"  Not  at  alL  The  man  who  commits  suicide 
kills  an  unarmed  man." 

"  But  the  unarmed  man  happens  to  be  him- 
self." 

"  Suppose  that  in  this  instance  your  distinction 
won't  work?  Look  here,"  he  went  on,  as  I  pushed 
back  my  chair  impatiently,  "  I  have  one  truth 
more  for  you.  I  swear  I  believe  that  what  we 
have  hated,  we  two,  is  not  each  other,  but  our- 
selves or  our  own  likeness.  I  swear  I  believe  we 
two  have  so  shared  natures  in  liate  that  no  power 
can  untwist  and  separate  them  to  render  encli  his 
own.  But  I  swear  also  I  believe,  that  if  you  lift 
that  revolver  to  kill,  you  will  take  aim,  not  at  me, 
but  by  instinct  at  a  worse  enemy — yourself,  vital 
in  my  heart." 

"  You  have  some  pretty  theories  to-night,"  I 
sneered.  "Perhaps  you'll  go  on  to  tell  mo  wh'u-h 
of  us  two  has  been  Elaine's  husband,  feeding 
daintily  in  Lennox  Gardens,  clothed  in  purple  and 

fine  linen,  while  the  other " 

67 


THE    EOO]\I    OF    MIERORS 

He  interrupted  me  by  picking  up  his  revolver 
and  striding  to  the  fireplace  again. 

"  So  be  it,  since  you  will  have  it  so.  Kill  me," 
he  added,  with  a  queer  look,  "  and  perhaps  you 
may  go  back  to  Lennox  Gardens  and  enjoy  all 
these  things  in  my  place." 

I  took  my  station.  Both  revolvers  were  levelled 
now.  I  took  sight  along  mine  at  his  detested  face. 
It  was  white  but  curiously  eager — hopeful  even. 
I  lowered  my  ann,  scanning  his  face  still;  and 
still  scanning  it,  set  my  weapon  down  on  the  table. 

"  I  believe  you  are  mad,"  said  I  slowly.  "  But 
one  thing  I  see — that,  mad  or  not,  you're  in  ear- 
nest. Eor  some  reason  you  want  me  to  kill  you; 
therefore  that  shall  wait.  For  some  reason  it  is 
torture  to  you  to  live  and  do  without  me:  well, 
I'll  try  you  with  that.  I  will  do  me  good  to  hurt 
you  a  bit."  I  slipped  the  revolver  into  my  pocket 
and  tapped  it.  "  Though  I  don't  understand  them, 
I  won't  quarrel  with  your  sentiments  so  long  as 
you  suffer  from  them.  When  that  fails,  I'll  find 
another  opportunity  for  this.  Good  night."  I 
stepped  to  the  door. 

"  Reggie!  " 

I  shut  the  door  on  his  cry:   crossed  the  corridor, 

and  climbing  out  through  the  window,  let  myself 

drop  into  the  lane. 

68 


THE    EOOM    OF    MIRRORS 

As  my  feet  touched  the  snow  a  revolver-shot 
rang  out  in  the  room  behind  me. 

I  caught  at  the  frozen  sill  to  steady  myself:  and 
crouching  there,  listened.  Surely  the  report  must 
have  alarmed  the  house!  I  waited  for  the  sound 
of  footsteps:  waited  for  three  minutes — perhaps 
longer.  '  None  came.  To  be  sure,  the  room  stood 
well  apart  from  the  house:  but  it  was  incredible 
that  the  report  should  have  awakened  no  one !  My 
own  ears  still  rane;  with  it. 

Still  no  footsteps  came.  The  horse  in  the  stable 
close  by  was  still  shuffling  his  lioof  on  the  cob- 
bles.    No  other  sound     . 

Very  stealthily  I  hoisted  myself  up  ou  the  sill 
again,  listened,  dropped  inside,  and  tip-toed  my 
way  to  the  door.  The  candles  were  still  burning 
in  the  Room  of  ]\[in'ors.  And  by  the  light  of 
them,  as  I  entered,  Gervase  stepped  to  meet  me. 

"  Ah,  it's  you,"  I  stammered.  "  I  heard — that 
is,  I  thought " 

And  with  tliat  I  saw — recognised  with  a  catch 
of  the  breath — that  the  figure  I  spoke  to  was  not 
Gervase,  but  my  owm  reflected  image,  stepping 
forward  with  pale  face  and  ghastly  from  a  mirror. 
Yet  a  moment  before  I  could  have  sworn  it  was 
Gervase. 


G9 


THE    ROOM    OF    MIRROES 

Gervase  lay  stretched  on  the  hearthrug  with  his 
hand  towards  the  fire.  I  caught  up  a  candle,  and 
bent  over  him.  Ilis  features  were  not  to  be  rec- 
ognised. 

As  I  straightened  myself  up,  with  the  candle  in 
my  hand,  for  an  instant  those  features,  obliterated 
in  the  flesh,  gazed  at  me  in  a  ring,  a  hundred 
times  repeated  behind  a  hundred  candles.  And 
again,  at  a  second  glance,  I  saw  that  the  face  was 
not  Gervase's  but  my  own. 

I  set  down  the  candle  and  made  off,  closing  the 
door  behind  me.  The  horror  of  it  held  me  by  the 
hair,  but  I  flung  it  off  and  pelted  down  the  lane 
and  through  the  mews.  Once  in  the  street  I 
breathed  again,  pulled  myself  together,  and  set  off 
at  a  rapid  walk,  southwards,  but  not  clearly  know- 
ing whither. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  took  the  line  by  which 
I  had  come:  with  the  single  difference  that  I 
made  straight  into  Berkeley  Square  through  Bru- 
ton  Street.  I  had,  I  say,  no  clear  purpose  in  fol- 
lowing this  line  rather  than  another.  I  had  none 
for  taking  Lennox  Gardens  on  the  way  to  my 
squalid  lodgings  in  Chelsea.  I  had  a  purpose,  no 
doubt;  but  will  swear  it  only  grew  definite  as  I 
came  in  sight  of  the  lamp  still  burning  beneath 

Gervase's  portico. 

70 


THE    ROOM    OF   MIRRORS 

There  was  a  figure,  too,  under  the  lamp — tho 
butler — beudiiig  there  and  rolling  up  the  strip  of 
red  carpet.  As  he  pulled  its  edges  from  the  frozen 
snow  I  came  on  him  suddenly. 

"  Oh,  it's  you,  Sir!  "  He  stoo<l  erect,  and  willi 
the  air  of  a  man  infinitely  relieved. 

"Gcrvase!" 

The  door  opened  wide  and  there  stood  Elaine 
in  her  ball-gown,  a-glitter  with  diamonds. 

"  Gervase,  dear,  where  have  you  been?  We 
have  been  ten-ibly  anxious " 

She  said  it,  looking  straight  down  on  me — on 
me — who  stood  in  my  tattered  clothes  in  the  full 
glare  of  the  lamp.  And  then  I  heard  the  butler 
catch  his  breath,  and  suddenly  her  voice  trailed 
off  in  wonder  and  pitiful  disappointment. 

"It's  not  Gervase!  It's  Reg — Mr.  Travers.  I 
beg  your  pardon.     I  thought " 

But  I  passed  up  the  steps  and  stood  before  her: 
and  said,  as  she  drew  back — 

"  There  has  been  an  accident.  Gen^ase  has  shot 
himself."  I  turned  to  the  butler.  "  You  had  bet- 
ter run  to  the  police  station.  Stay:  take  this  re- 
volver. It  won't  count  anything  as  evidence:  but 
I  ask  you  to  examine  it.  and  make  sure  all  the 
chambers  are  loaded." 

A  thud  in  the  hall  interrupted  me.     I  ran  in 

71 


THE  EOOM  OF  MIEROKS 

and  knelt  beside  Elaine,  and  as  I  stooped  to  lift 
her — as  my  hand  touched  her  hair — this  was  the 
jealous  question  on  my  lips — 

"  "What  has  she  to  do  with  it.     It  is  I  who  can- 
not do  without  him — who  must  miss  him  always !  " 


72 


IV 
A   PAIR   OF   HANDS 

AN    OLD    maid's    GHOST    STORY. 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Le  Petyt,  gazing  into  the  deep 
fireplace  and  letting  her  hands  and  her  knitting  lie 
for  the  moment  idle  in  her  lap.  "  Oh,  jes,  I  have 
seen  a  ghost.  In  fact  I  have  lived  in  a  house  with 
one  for  quite  a  long  time." 

"  How  you  could !  "  began  one  of  my  host's 

daughters;  and  "You,  Aunt  Emily?"  cried  the 
other  at  the  same  moment. 

Miss  Le  Petyt,  gentle  soul,  withdrew  her  eyes 
from  the  fireplace  and  protested  with  a  gay  little 
smile-  "  Well,  my  dears,  I  am  not  quite  the  cow- 
ard you  take  me  for.  And,  as  it  happens,  mine  was 
the  most  hannless  ghost  in  the  world.  In  fact'" — 
and  here  she  looked  at  the  fire  again — "  I  was  quite 
sorry  to  lose  her." 

"  It  was  a  woman,  then?     Now  /  think,"  said 

Miss  Blanche,  "  that  female  ghosts  are  the  horridest 

73 


A   PAIR   OF   HANDS 

of  all.  They  wear  little  shoes  with  high  red  heels, 
and  go  about  tap,  tap,  wringing  their  hands." 

"  This  one  wrung  her  hands,  certainly.  But  I 
don't  know  about  the  high  red  heels,  for  I  never 
saw  her  feet.  Perhaps  she  was  like  the  Queen  of 
Spain,  and  hadn't  any.  And  as  for  the  hands,  it  all 
depends  how  you  wring  them.  There's  an  elderly 
shopwalker  at  Knightsbridge,  for  instance " 

"  Don't  be  prosy,  dear,  when  you  know  that  we're 
just  dying  to  hear  the  story." 

Miss  Le  Petyt  turned  to  me  with  a  small  depre- 
cating laugh.     "  It's  such  a  little  one." 

"  The  story,  or  the  ghost?  " 

"  Both." 

And  this  was  Miss  Le  Petyt's  story : — 

"  It  happened  when  I  lived  down  in  Cornwall,  at 

Tresillack  on  the  south  coast.     Tresillack  was  the 

name  of  the  house,  which  stood  quite  alone  at  the 

head  of  a  coonibe,   within  sound  of  the  sea  but 

without  sight  of  it;    for  though  the  coombe  led 

down  to  a  wide  open  beach,  it  wound  and  twisted 

half  a  dozen  times  on  its  way,  and  its  overlapping 

sides  closed  the  view  from  the  house,  which  was 

advertised  as  '  secluded.'     I  was  very  poor  in  those 

days.     Your  father  and  all  of  us  were  poor  then, 

as  I  trust,  my  dears,  you  will  never  be;  but  I  was 

74 


A   PAIR   OF   HANDS 

young  enough  to  be  romantic  and  wise  enough  to 
like  independence,  and  this  word  '  secluded  '  took 
my  fancy. 

"  The  misfortune  was  that  it  had  taken  the  fancy, 
or  just  suited  the  requirements,  of  several  previous 
tenants.  You  know,  I  dare  say,  the  kind  of  per- 
son who  rents  a  secluded  house  in  the  country? 
Well,  yes,  there  are  several  kinds;  but  they  seem 
to  agree  in  being  odious.  No  one  knows  where 
they  come  from,  though  they  soon  remove  all  doubt 
about  where  they're  '  going  to,'  as  the  children  say. 
'  Shady  '  is  the  word,  is  it  not  ?  Well,  the  previous 
tenants  of  Tresillack  (from  first  to  last  a  bewilder 
ing  series)  had  been  shady  with  a  vengeance. 

"  I  knew  nothing  of  this  when  I  first  made  ap- 
plication to  the  landlord,  a  solid  yeoman  inhabiting 
a  farm  at  the  foot  of  the  coombe,  on  a  cliff  over- 
looking the  beach.  To  him  I  presented  myself 
fearlessly  as  a  spinster  of  decent  family  and  small 
but  assured  income,  intending  a  rural  life  of  com- 
bined seemliness  and  economy.  He  met  my  ad- 
vances politely  enough,  but  with  an  air  of  suspicion 
which  offended  me.  I  began  by  disliking  him  for 
it :  af tenvards  I  set  it  down  as  an  unpleasant  feature 
in  the  local  character.  I  was  doubly  mistaken. 
Farmer  Hosking  was  slow-witted,  but  as  honest  a 

man  as  ever  stood  up  against  hard  times;    and  a 

75 


A  PAIR   OF   HANDS 

more  open  and  hospitable  race  than  the  people  on 
that  coast  I  never  wish  to  meet.  It  was  the  caution 
of  a  child  who  had  burnt  his  fingers,  not  once  but 
many  times.  Had  I  known  what  I  afterwards 
learned  of  Farmer  Hosking's  tribulations  as  land- 
lord of  a  '  secluded  country  residence,'  I  should 
have  approached  him  with  the  bashfulness  proper 
to  my  suit  and  faltered  as  I  undertook  to  prove  the 
bright  exception  in  a  long  line  of  painful  experi- 
ences. He  had  bought  the  Tresillack  estate  twenty 
years  before — on  mortgage,  I  fancy — because  the 
land  adjoined  his  own  and  would  pay  him  for  till- 
age. But  the  house  was  a  nuisance,  an  incubus; 
and  had  been  so  from  the  beginning. 

"  '  Well,  miss,'  he  said,  '  you're  welcome  to  look 
over  it;  a  pretty  enough  place,  inside  and  out. 
There's  no  trouble  about  keys,  because  I've  put  in 
a  housekeeper,  a  widow-woman,  and  she'll  show  you 
round.  With  your  leave  I'll  step  up  the  coombe 
so  far  with  you,  and  put  you  in  your  way.'  As  I 
thanked  him  he  paused  and  rubbed  his  chin. 
'  There's  one  thing  I  must  tell  you,  though.  Who- 
ever takes  the  house  must  take  Mrs.  Carkeek  along 
with  it.' 

"  '  Mrs.  Carkeek? '  I  echoed  dolefully.     '  Is  that 

the  housekeeper? ' 

Yes:   she  was  wife  to  my  late  hind.     I'm 

76 


(( ( 


A   PAIR   OF   HANDS 

sorry,  niiss,'  he  added,  my  face  telling  him  no  doubt 
what  sort  of  woman  I  expected  Mrs.  Carkeek  to 
be;  '  but  I  had  to  make  it  a  rule  after — after  some 
things  that  happened.  And  I  dare  say  you  won't 
find  her  so  bad.  Mary  Carkeek's  a  sensible  com- 
fortable woman,  and  knows  the  place.  She  was  in 
service  there  to  Squire  Kendall  when  he  sold  up 
and  went:  her  first  place  it  w^as.' 

"  '  I  may  as  well  see  the  house,  anyhow,'  said  I 
dejectedly.  So  we  started  to  walk  up  the  coombe. 
The  path,  which  ran  beside  a  little  chattering 
stream,  was  narrow  for  the  most  part,  and  Farmer 
Hosking,  with  an  apology,  strode  on  ahead  to  beat 
aside  the  brambles.  But  whenever  its  width  al- 
lowed us  to  walk  side  by  side  I  caught  him  from 
time  to  time  stealing  a  shy  inquisitive  glance  under 
his  rough  eyebrows.  Courteously  though  he  bore 
himself,  it  was  clear  that  he  could  not  sum  me  up  to 
his  satisfaction  or  bring  me  square  with  his  notion 
of  a  tenant  for  his  '  secluded  country  residence.' 

"  I  don't  know  what  foolish  fancy  prompted  it, 
but  about  halfway  up  the  coombe  I  stopped  short 
and  asked: 

"  '  There  are  no  ghosts,  I  suppose? ' 

"  It  struck  me,  a  moment  after  I  had  uttered  it, 

as  a  supremely  silly  question;  but  he  took  it  quite 

seriously.     '  No;  I  never  heard  tell  of  any  gliosis.^ 

77 


A   PAIR   OF   HANDS 

He  laid  a  queer  sort  of  stress  on  the  word.  '  There's 
always  been  trouble  mth  servants,  and  maids' 
tongues  will  be  runnin'.  But  Mary  Carkeek  lives 
up  there  alone,  and  she  seems  comfortable  enough.' 

"  We  walked  on.  By-and-by  he  pointed  with 
his  stick.  '  It  don't  look  like  a  place  for  ghosts, 
now,  do  it? ' 

"  Certainly  it  did  not.  Above  an  untrimmed 
orchard  rose  a  terrace  of  turf  scattered  with  thom- 
busTies,  and  above  this  a  terrace  of  stone,  upon 
which  stood  the  prettiest  cottage  I  had  ever  seen. 
It  was  long  and  low  and  thatched ;  a  deep  verandah 
ran  from  end  to  end.  Clematis,  banksia  roses  and 
honeysuckle  climbed  the  posts  of  this  verandah,  and 
big  blooms  of  the  Marechal  Niel  were  clustered 
along  its  roof,  beneath  the  lattices  of  the  bedroom 
windows.  The  house  was  small  enough  to  be  called 
a  cottage,  and  rare  enough  in  features  and  in  situa- 
tion to  confer  distinction  on  any  tenant.  It  sug- 
gested what  in  those  days  we  should  have  called 
'  elegant '  living.  And  I  could  have  clapped  my 
hands  for  joy. 

"  My  spirits  mounted  still  higher  when  Mrs.  Car- 
keek opened  the  door  to  us.  I  liad  looked  for  a 
Mrs.  Gummidge,  and  I  found  a  healthy  middle- 
aged  woman  with  a  thoughtful  but  contented  face, 

and  a  smile  which,  without  a  trace  of  obsequious- 

78 


A  PAIR   OF   HANDS 

ncss,  quite  bore  out  the  farmer's  description  of  her. 
She  was  a  comfortable  woman;  and  while  we 
walked  through  the  rooms  together  (for  Mr.  Hosk- 
ing  waited  outside)  I '  took  to  '  Mrs.  Carkeek.  Her 
speech  was  direct  and  practical;  the  rooms,  in  spite 
of  their  faded  furniture,  were  bright  and  exquisite- 
ly clean;  and  somehow  the  very  atmosphere  of  the 
house  gave  me  a  sense  of  well-being,  of  feeling  at 
home  and  cared  for;  yes,  of  being  loved.  Don't 
laugh,  my  dears;  for  when  I've  done  you  may  not 
think  this  fancy  altogether  foolisli. 

"  I  stepped  out  into  the  verandah,  and  Farmer 
Hosking  pocketed  the  pruning-knife  which  he  had 
been  using  on  a  bush  of  jasmine. 

"  '  This  is  better  than  anything  I  had  dreamed 
of.' 

"  '  Well,  miss,  that's  not  a  wise  way  of  begin- 
ning a  bargain,  if  you'll  excuse  me.' 

"  He  took  no  advantage,  however,  of  my  admis- 
sion; and  we  struck  the  bargain  as  we  returned 
down  the  coombe  to  his  farm,  where  the  hired  chaise 
waited  to  convey  me  back  to  the  nearest  town.  I 
had  meant  to  engage  a  maid  of  my  own,  but  now 
it  occurred  to  me  that  I  might  do  very  well  with 
Mrs.  Carkeek.  This,  too,  was  settled  in  the  course 
of  the  next  day  or  two,  and  within  the  week  T  had 

moved  into  my  new  home. 

79 


A   PAIE   OF   HANDS 


<( 


I  can  hardly  describe  to  you  the  happiness  of 
my  first  month  at  Tresillack ;  because  (as  I  now  be- 
lieve) if  I  take  the  reasons  which  I  had  for  being 
happy,  one  by  one,  there  remains  over  something 
which  I  cannot  account  for,  I  was  moderately 
young,  entirely  healthy;  I  felt  myself  independent 
and  adventurous;  the  season  was  high  summer,  the 
weather  glorious,  the  garden  in  all  the  pomp  of 
June,  yet  sufficiently  unkempt  to  keep  me  busy, 
give  me  a  sharp  appetite  for  meals,  and  send  me 
to  bed  in  that  drowsy  stupor  which  comes  of  the 
odours  of  earth.  I  spent  the  most  of  my  time  out 
of  doors,  winding  up  the  day's  work  as  a  rule  with 
a  walk  down  the  cool  valley,  along  the  beach  and 
back. 

"  I  soon  found  that  all  housework  could  be  safely 
left  to  Mrs.  Carkeek.  She  did  not  talk  much;  in- 
deed her  only  fault  (a  rare  one  in  housekeepers) 
was  that  she  talked  too  little,  and  even  when  I  ad- 
dressed her  seemed  at  times  unable  to  give  me  her 
attention.  It  was  as  though  her  mind  strayed  off 
to  some  small  job  she  had  forgotten,  and  her  eyes 
wore  a  listening  look,  as  though  she  waited  for  the 
neglected  task  to  speak  and  remind  her.  But  as  a 
matter  of  fact  she  forgot  nothing.  Indeed,  my 
dears,  I  was  never  so  well  attended  to  in  my  life. 

"  Well,  that  is  what  I'm  coming  to.     That,  so 

80 


A   PAIR  OF   HANDS 

to  say,  is  just  ii.  The  woman  not  only  had  the 
rooms  swept  and  dusted,  and  my  meals  prepared  to 
the  moment.  In  a  hundred  odd  little  ways  this 
orderliness,  these  preparations,  seemed  to  read  my 
desires.  Did  I  wish  the  roses  renewed  in  a  bowl 
upon  the  dining-table,  sure  enough  at  the  next  meal 
they  would  be  replaced  by  fresh  ones.  Mrs.  Car- 
keek  (I  told  myself)  must  have  surprised  and  inter- 
preted a  glance  of  mine.  And  yet  I  could  not  re- 
member having  glanced  at  the  bowl  in  her  presence. 
And  how  on  earth  had  she  guessed  the  very  roses, 
the  very  shapes  and  colours  I  had  lightly  wished 
for?  This  is  only  an  instance,  you  understand. 
Every  day,  and  from  morning  to  night,  I  happened 
on  others,  each  slight  enough,  but  all  together  bear- 
ing witness  to  a  ministering  intelligence  as  subtle  as 
it  was  untiring. 

"  I  am  a  light  sleeper,  as  you  know,  with  an  un- 
comfortable knack  of  waking  with  tlie  sun  and 
roaming  early.  No  matter  how  early  I  rose  at  Tre- 
sillack,  Mrs.  Carkeek  seemed  to  have  prevented  me. 
Finally  I  had  to  conclude  that  she  arose  and  dusted 
and  tidied  as  soon  as  she  judged  me  safely  a-bed. 
For  once,  finding  the  drawing-room  (where  I  had 
been  sitting  late)  '  redded  '  up  at  four  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  no  trace  of  a  plate  of  raspberries  which  I 

had  carried  thither  after  dinner  and  left  overnight, 

81 


A   PAIR   OF   HANDS 

I  determined  to  test  her,  and  walked  through  to  the 
kitchen,  calling  her  by  name.  I  found  the  kitchen 
as  clean  as  a  pin,  and  the  fire  laid,  but  no  trace  of 
Mrs.  Carkeek.  I  walked  upstairs  and  knocked  at 
her  door.  At  the  second  knock  a  sleepy  voice  cried 
out,  and  presently  the  good  woman  stood  before  me 
in  her  nightgown,  looking  (I  thought)  very  badly 
scared. 

"  '  Xo,'  I  said,  '  it's  not  a  burglar.  But  I've 
found  out  what  I  wanted,  that  you  do  your  morn- 
ing's work  over  night.  But  you  mustn't  wait  for 
me  when  I  choose  to  sit  up.  And  now  go  back 
to  your  bed  like  a  good  soul,  whilst  I  take  a  run 
down  to  the  beach.' 

"  She  stood  blinking  in  the  dawn.  Her  face 
was  still  white. 

"  '  Oh,  miss,'  she  gasped,  '  I  made  sure  you  must 
have  seen  something! ' 

"  '  And  so  I  have,'  I  answered,  '  but  it  was  nei- 
ther burglars  nor  ghosts.' 

"  '  Thank  God !  '  I  heard  her  say  as  she  turned 
her  back  to  me  in  her  grey  bedroom — which  faced 
the  north.  And  I  took  this  for  a  carelessly  pious 
expression  and  ran  downstairs,  thinking  no  more 
of  it. 

"  A  few  days  later  I  began  to  understand, 

"  The  plan  of  Tresillaek  house  (I  must  explain) 

82 


A  PAIE   OF   HANDS 

was  simplicity  itself.  To  the  left  of  the  hall  as  you 
entered  was  the  dining-room ;  to  the  right  the  draw- 
ing-room, with  a  boudoir  beyond.  The  foot  of  the 
stairs  faced  the  front  door,  and  beside  it,  passing  a 
glazed  inner  door,  you  found  two  others  right  and 
left,  the  left  opening  on  the  kitchen,  the  right  on 
a  passage  which  ran  by  a  store-cupboard  under  the 
bend  of  the  stairs  to  a  neat  pantry  with  the  usual 
shelves  and  linen-press,  and  under  the  window 
(which  faced  north)  a  porcelain  basin  and  brass  tap. 
On  the  first  morning  of  my  tenancy  I  had  visited 
this  pantry  and  turned  the  tap;  but  no  water  ran. 
1  supposed  this  to  be  accidental.  Mrs.  Carkeek 
had  to  wash  up  glass  ware  and  crockery,  and  no 
doubt  Mrs.  Carkeek  would  complain  of  any  failure 
in  the  water  supply. 

'•'  But  the  day  after  my  surprise  visit  (as  I  called 
it)  I  had  picked  a  basketful  of  roses,  and  carried 
them  into  the  pantry  as  a  handy  place  to  arrange 
them  in.  I  chose  a  china  bowl  and  went  to  fill  it 
at  the  tap.     Again  the  water  would  not  run. 

"  I  called  Mrs.  Carkeek.  '  What  is  wrong  with 
this  tap? '  I  asked.  '  The  rest  of  the  house  is  well 
enough  supplied.' 

"  '  I  don't  know,  miss.     I  never  use  it.' 

"  '  But  there  must  be  a  reason ;  and  you  must 

find  it  a  great  nuisance  washing  u])  the  jdate  and 

83 


A   PAIR   OF   HANDS 

glasses  in  the  kitchen.  Come  around  to  the  back 
with  me,  and  we'll  have  a  look  at  the  cisterns.' 

"  '  The  cisterns  '11  be  all  right,  miss.  I  assure 
you  I  don't  find  it  a  trouble.' 

"  But  I  was  not  to  be  put  off.  The  back  of  the 
house  stood  but  ten  feet  from  a  wall  which  was 
really  but  a  stone  face  built  against  the  cliff  cut 
away  by  the  architect.  Above  the  cliff  rose  the 
kitchen  garden,  and  from  its  lower  path  we  looked 
over  the  wall's  parapet  upon  the  cisterns.  There 
were  two — a  very  large  one,  supplying  the  kitchen 
and  the  bathroom  above  the  kitchen;  and  a  small 
one,  obviously  fed  by  the  other,  and  as  obviously 
leading,  by  a  pipe  which  I  could  trace,  to  the  pan- 
try. ISTow  the  big  cistern  stood  almost  full,  and 
yet  the  small  one,  though  on  a  lower  level,  was 
empty. 

"  '  It's  as  plain  as  daylight,'  said  I.  '  The  pipe 
between  the  two  is  choked.'  And  I  clambered  on 
to  the  parapet. 

"  '  I  wouldn't,  miss.  The  pantry  tap  is  only 
cold  water,  and  no  use  to  me.  From  the  kitchen 
boiler  I  gets  it  hot,  you  see.' 

"  '  But  I  want  the  pantry  water  for  my  flowers.' 

I  bent  over  and  groped.     '  I  thought  as  much !  ' 

said  I,  as  I  wrenched  out  a  thick  plug  of  cork  and 

immediately  the  water  began  to  flow.     I  turned  tri- 

84 


A   PAIR   OF   HANDS 

umphantly  on  Mrs.  Carkeek,  who  had  grown  sud- 
denly red  in  the  face.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
cork  in  my  hand.  To  keep  it  more  firmly  wedged 
in  its  place  somebody  had  wrapped  it  round  with  a 
rag  of  calico  print ;  and,  discoloured  though  the  rag 
was,  I  seemed  to  recall  the  pattern  (a  lilac  sprig). 
Then,  as  our  eyes  met,  it  occurred  to  me  that  only 
two  mornings  before  Mrs.  Carkeek  had  worn  a  print 
gown  of  that  same  sprigged  pattern. 

"  I  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  hide  this  very 
small  discovery,  sliding  over  it  some  quite  trivial 
remark;  and  presently  Mrs.  Carkeek  regained  her 
composure.  But  I  own  I  felt  disappointed  in  her. 
It  seemed  such  a  paltry  thing  to  be  disingenuous 
over.  She  had  deliberately  acted  a  fib  before  me; 
and  wdiy?  Merely  because  she  preferred  the 
kitchen  to  the  pantry  tap.  It  was  childish.  '  But 
servants  are  all  the  same,'  I  told  myself.  '  I  must 
take  Mrs.  Cai-keek  as  she  is;  and,  after  all,  she  is 
a  treasure.' 

"  On  the  second  night  after  this,  and   between 

eleven  and  twelve  o'clock,  I  was  lying  in  bed  and 

reading  myself  sleepy  over  a  novel  of  Lord  Lyt- 

ton's,  when  a  small  sound  disturbed  me.    I  listened. 

The  sound  was  cleai-ly  that  of  water  trickling;  and 

I  set  it  down  to  rain.     A  shower  (I  told  myself) 

had  filled  the  water-pipes  which  drained  the  roof. 

85 


A   PAIR   OF   HANDS 

Somehow  I  could  not  fix  the  sound.  There  was  a 
water-pipe  against  the  wall  just  outside  my  win- 
dow.    I  rose  and  drew  up  the  blind. 

"  To  my  astonishment  no  rain  was  falling;  no 
rain  had  fallen.  I  felt  the  slate  window-sill;  some 
dew  had  gathered  there — no  more.  There  was  no 
wind,  no  cloud:  only  a  still  moon  high  over  the 
eastern  slope  of  the  coombe,  the  distant  plash  of 
waves,  and  the  fragrance  of  many  roses.  I  went 
back  to  bed  and  listened  again.  Yes,  the  trickling 
sound  continued,  quite  distinct  in  the  silence  of 
the  house,  not  to  be  confused  for  a  moment  with 
the  dull  murmur  of  the  beach.  After  a  while  it 
began  to  grate  on  my  nerves.  I  caught  up  my 
candle,  flung  my  dressing-gown  about  me,  and  stole 
softly  downstairs. 

"  Then  it  was  simple.  I  traced  the  sound  to  the 
pantry.  '  Mrs.  Carkeek  has  left  the  tap  running,' 
said  I:  and,  sure  enough,  I  found  it  so — a  thin 
trickle  steadily  running  to  waste  in  the  porcelain 
basin.  I  turned  off  the  tap,  went  contentedly  back 
to  my  bed,  and  slept. 

" for  some  hours.     I  opened  my  eyes  in 

darkness,  and  at  once  knew  what  had  awakened  me. 
The  tap  was  running  again,  JSTow  it  had  shut  eas- 
ily in  my  hand,  but  not  so  easily  that  I  could  be- 
lieve it  had  slipped  open  again  of  its  own  accord. 

86 


A   PAIR   OF   TTAXDS 

'This  is  ]\rrs.  Carkeek's  doing/  said  I;  and  am 
afraid  I  added  '  Bother  Mrs.  Carkeek!  ' 

""Well,  there  was  no  help  for  it:  so  I  struck  a 
light,  looked  at  my  watch,  saw  that  the  hour  was 
just  three  o'clock,  and  descended  the  stairs  again. 
At  the  pantry  door  I  paused.  I  was  not  afraid — 
not  one  little  bit.  In  fact  the  notion  that  anything 
might  be  wrong  had  never  crossed  my  mind.  But 
I  remember  thinking,  wnth  my  hand  on  the  door, 
that  if  Mrs.  Carkeek  were  in  the  pantry  I  might 
happen  to  give  her  a  severe  fright. 

"  I  pushed  the  door  open  briskly.  Mrs.  Carkeek 
was  not  there.  But  something  was  there,  by  the 
porcelain  basin — something  which  might  have  sent 
me  scurrying  upstairs  two  steps  at  a  time,  but  which 
as  a  matter  of  fact  held  me  to  the  spot.  My  heart 
seemed  to  stand  still — so  still!  And  in  the  still- 
ness I  remember  setting  down  the  brass  candlestick 
on  a  tall  nest  of  drawers  beside  me. 

"  Over  the  porcelain  basin  and  beneath  the  water 
trickling  from  the  tap  I  saw  two  hands. 

That  was  all — two  small  hands,  a  child's  hands. 
I  cannot  tell  you  how  they  ended. 

"  No:  they  were  not  cut  off.  I  saw  them  quite 
distinctly:  just  a  pair  of  small  hands  and  the  WTists, 
and    after    that — nothing.     They    were    moving 

briskly — washing   themselves   clean.      I   saw    the 

87 


A   PAIR   OF   HANDS 

water  trickle  and  splash  over  them — not  through 
them — but  just  as  it  would  on  real  hands.  They 
were  the  hands  of  a  little  girl,  too.  Oh,  yes,  I  was 
sure  of  that  at  once.  Boys  and  girls  wash  their 
hands  differently.  I  can't  just  tell  you  what  the 
difference  is,  but  it's  unmistakable. 

"  I  saw  all  this  before  my  candle  slipped  and  fell 
with  a  crash.  I  had  set  it  down  without  looking 
— for  my  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  basin — and  had 
balanced  it  on  the  edge  of  the  nest  of  drawers.  Af- 
ter the  crash,  in  the  darkness  there,  with  the  water 
running,  I  suffered  some  bad  moments.  Oddly 
enough,  the  thought  uppermost  with  me  was  that 
I  must  shut  off  that  tap  before  escaping.  I  had 
to.  And  after  a  while  I  picked  up  all  my  cour- 
age, so  to  say,  between  my  teeth,  and  with  a 
little  sob  thrust  out  my  hand  and  did  it.  Then  I 
fled. 

"  The  dawn  was  close  upon  me :  and  as  soon  as 

the  sky  reddened  I  took  my  bath,  dressed  and  went 

downstairs.     And  there  at  the  pantry  door  I  found 

Mrs.  Carkeek,  also  dressed,  with  my  candlestick  in 

her  hand. 

Ah ! '  said  I,  '  you  picked  it  up.' 

Our  eyes  met.     Clearly  Mrs.  Carkeek  wished 

me  to  begin,  and  I  determined  at  once  to  have  it 

out  with  her. 

88 


A   PAIR   OF   HANDS 


« 


*  And  you  knew  all  about  it.  That's  what  ac- 
counts for  your  plugging  up  the  cistern.' 

"'You  saw     .     .     .?'  she  began. 

"  '  Yes,  yes.  And  you  must  tell  me  all  about  it 
— never  mind  how  bad.     Is is  it — murder? ' 

"  '  Law  bless  you,  miss,  whatever  put  such  hor- 
rors in  your  head  ? ' 

"  '  She  was  washing  her  hands.' 

"  '  Ah,  so  she  does,  poor  dear!  But — murder! 
And  dear  little  Miss  Margaret,  that  wouldn't  go  to 
hurt  a  fly!  ' 

"  '  Miss  Margaret? ' 

"  '  Eh,  she  died  at  seven  year.  Squire  Kendall's 
only  daughter;  and  that's  over  twenty  year  ago.  I 
was  her  nurse,  miss,  and  I  know — diphtheria  it  was; 
she  took  it  down  in  the  village.' 

"  '  But  how  do  you  know  it  is  Margaret? ' 

"  '  Those  hands — why,  how  could  I  mistake,  that 
used  to  be  her  nurse? ' 

"  '  But  why  does  she  wash  them? ' 

"  '  Well,  miss,  being  always  a  dainty  child — and 
the  house-work,  you  see ' 

"  I  took  a  long  breath.     '  Do  you  mean  to  tell 

me  that  all  this  tidying  and  dusting '  I  broke 

off.     '  Is  it  she  who  has  been  taking  this  care  of 

me? ' 

"  Mrs.  Carkeek  met  my  look  steadily. 

89 


A   PAIR   OF   HANDS 

"  '  Who  else,  miss? ' 

"'Poor  little  soul!' 

"  '  Well  now  ' — Mrs.  Carkeek  rubbed  my  can- 
dlestick with  the  edge  of  her  apron — '  I'm  so  glad 
you  take  it  like  this.  For  there  isn't  really  nothing 
to  be  afraid  of — is  there  ? '  She  eyed  me  wistfully. 
'  It's  my  belief  she  loves  you,  miss.  But  only  to 
think  what  a  time  she  must  have  had  with  the 
others! ' 

"  '  The  others? '  I  echoed. 

"  '  The  other  tenants,  miss:  the  ones  afore  you.' 

"'Were  they  bad?' 

"  '  They  was  awful.  Didn't  Farmer  Hosking 
tell  you?  They  carried  on  fearful — one  after  an- 
other, and  each  one  worse  than  the  last.' 

"  '  What  was  the  matter  with  them?     Drink? ' 

"  '  Drink,  miss,  with  some  of  'cm.  There  was 
the  Major — he  used  to  go  mad  with  it,  and  run 
about  the  coombe  in  his  nightshirt.  Oh,  scandal- 
ous! And  his  wife  drank  too — that  is,  if  she  ever 
was  his  wife.  Just  think  of  that  tender  child  wash- 
ing up  after  their  nasty  doings!  ' 

"  I  shivered. 

"  '  But  that  wasn't  the  worst,  miss — not  by  a 
long  way.  There  was  a  pair  here — from  the  col- 
onies, or  so  they  gave  out — with  two  children,  a  boy 

and  gel,  the  eldest  scarce  six.     Poor  mites !  ' 

90 


A  PAIR   OF   HANDS 


C( 


'  Why,  what  happened? ' 

"  '  They  beat  those  cliildren,  miss — your  blood 
would  boil! — and  starved,  and  tortured  'em,  it's 
my  belief.  You  could  hear  tlioir  screams,  I've 
been  told,  away  back  in  the  high-road,  and  that's 
the  best  part  of  half  a  mile.  Sometimes  they  was 
locked  up  without  food  for  days  together.  But  it's 
my  belief  that  little  ]\Iiss  Margaret  managed  to  feed 
them  somehow.  Oh,  I  can  see  her,  creeping  to  the 
door  and  comforting!  ' 

"  '  But  perhaps  she  never  showed  herself  when 
these  awful  people  were  here,  but  took  to  flight  un- 
til they  left.' 

"  '  You  didn't  never  know  her,  miss.  The 
brave  she  was!  She'd  have  stood  up  to  lions. 
She've  been  here  all  the  while:  and  only  to  think 
what  her  innocent  eyes  and  ears  must  have  took  in ! 

There   was    another   couple '     Mrs.    Cai'keek 

sunk  her  voice. 

"  '  Oh,  hush !  '  said  I,  '  if  I'm  to  have  any  peace 
of  mind  in  this  house!  ' 

"  '  But  you  won't  go,  miss?  She  loves  you,  I 
know  she  do.  And  think  what  you  might  be  leav- 
ing her  to — what  sort  of  tenant  might  come  next. 
For  she  can't  go.  She've  been  here  ever  since  her 
father  sold  the  place.     He  died  soon  after.     You 

musn't  go! ' 

91 


A   PAIE   OF   HANDS 

"  Now  I  had  resolved  to  go,  but  all  of  a  sudden 
I  felt  how  mean  this  resolution  was. 

"  '  After  all/  said  I,  '  there's  nothing  to  be  afraid 
of.' 

"  '  That's  it,  miss;  nothing  at  all.  I  don't  even 
believe  it's  so  very  uncommon.  Why,  I've  heard 
my  mother  tell  of  farmhouses  where  the  rooms  were 
swept  every  night  as  regular  as  clockwork,  and  the 
floors  sanded,  and  the  pots  and  pans  scoured,  and 
all  while  th-e  maids  slept.  They  put  it  down  to  the 
piskies;  but  we  know  better,  miss,  and  now  we've 
got  the  secret  between  us  we  can  lie  easy  in  our 
beds,  and  if  we  hear  anything,  say  "  God  bless  the 
child!  "  and  go  to  sleep.' 

"  '  Mrs.  Carkeek,'  said  I,  '  there's  only  one  con- 
dition I  have  to  make.' 

"'What's  that?' 

"  '  Why,  that  you  let  me  kiss  you.' 

"  '  Oh,  you  dear!  '  said  Mrs.  Carkeek  as  we  em- 
braced: and  this  was  as  close  to  familiarity  as  she 
allowed  herself  to  go  in  the  whole  course  of  my 
acquaintance  with  her. 

"  I  spent  three  years  at  Tresillack,  and  all  that 

while  Mrs.  Carkeek  lived  with  me  and  shared  the 

secret.     Few  women,  I  dare  to  say,  were  ever  so 

completely  wrapped  around  with  love  as  we  were 

during  those  three  years.     It  ran  through  my  wak- 

92 


A   PAIR   OF   HANDS 

ing  life  like  a  song :  it  smoothed  my  pillow,  touched 
and  made  my  table  comely,  in  summer  lifted  the 
heads  of  the  flowers  as  I  passed,  and  in  winter 
watched  the  fire  with  me  and  kept  it  bright. 

"  '  Why  did  I  ever  leave  Tresillack? '  Because 
one  day,  at  the  end  of  three  years,  Farmer  Hosking 
brought  me  word  that  he  had  sold  the  house — or 
was  about  to  sell  it;  I  forget  which.  There  was 
no  avoiding  it,  at  any  rate;  the  purchaser  being 
a  Colonel  Kendall,  a  brother  of  the  old  Squire.' 

"  '  A  man'ied  man? '  I  asked. 

" '  Yes,  miss;  with  a  family  of  eight.  As 
pretty  children  as  ever  you  see,  and  the  mother  a 
good  lady.     It's  the  old  home  to  Colonel  Kendall.' 

"  '  I  see.  And  that  is  why  you  feel  bound  to 
sell.' 

"  '  It's  a  good  price,  too,  that  he  offei's.  You 
mustn't  think  but  I'm  sorry  enough ' 

"  '  To  tuni  me  out?  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Hos- 
king;   but  you  are  doing  the  right  thing.' 

"  Since  Mrs.  Carkeek  was  to  stay,  the  an-ange- 
mcnt  lacked  nothing  of  absolute  perfection — ex- 
cept, perhaps,  that  it  found  no  room  for  me. 

"'She  —  Margaret  —  will  be  happy,'  I  said; 
*  with  her  cousins,  you  know.' 

"  '  Oh  yes,  miss,  she  will  be  happy,  sure  enough,' 

Mrs.  Carkeek  agreed. 

93 


A   PAIR  OF   HANDS 

"  So  when  tlie  time  came  I  packed  up  my 
boxes,  and  tried  to  be  cheerful.  But  on  the  last 
morning,  when  they  stood  corded  in  the  hall,  I 
sent  Mrs.  Carkeek  upstairs  upon  some  poor  excuse, 
and  stepped  alone  into  the  pantry. 
Margaret!  '  I  whispered. 
There  was  no  answer  at  all.  I  had  scarcely 
dared  to  hope  for  one.  Yet  I  tried  again,  and, 
shutting  my  eyes  this  time,  stretched  out  both 
hands  and  whispered: 

"'Margaret!  ' 

"  And  I  will  swear  to  my  dying  day  that  two 
little  hands  stole  and  rested — for  a  moment  only 
— in  mine." 


a  ( 


94 


V 
THE   LADY   OF   THE   SHIP 

[  Or  so  much  as  is  told  of  her  by  Paschal  Tonkin,  steward  and 
via]or-domo  to  the  lamented  John  Milliton,  of  Pengersick 
Castle,  in  Cornivall :  of  her  coining  in  the  Portugal  Ship, 
anyw  1526  ;  her  marriage  with  the  said  MiUiton  and  alleged 
sorceries  ;  with  particidars  of  the  Barbary  men  wrecked  in 
Mould's  Bay  and  their  entertainment  in  the  toivn  of  Mar- 
ket Jew.] 

My  purpose  is  to  clear  the  memory  of  my  late 
and  dear  Master;  and  to  this  end  I  shall  tell  the 
truth  and  the  truth  only,  so  far  as  I  know  it,  ad- 
mitting his  faults  which,  since  he  has  taken  them 
before  God,  no  man  should  now  aggravate  by 
guess-work.  That  he  had  traffic  with  secret  arts  is 
certain;  but  I  believe  with  no  purpose  but  to  fight 
the  Devil  with  his  own  armourv.  He  never  was  a 
robber  as  Mr.  Thomas  St.  Aubyn  and  Mr.  Will- 
iam Godolphin  accused  him;  nor,  as  the  vulgar 
pretended,  a  lustful  and  bloody  man.  What  he  did 
was  done  in  effort  to  save  a  woman's  soul;  as  Jude 
tells  us,  "  Of  some  have  compassion,  that  are  in 
donhi  :    ami  of  hers  sarf\  Jiarinij  meretj  ivifli  fear, 

95 


THE    LADY    OF    THE    SHIP 

pulling  them  out  of  the  fire,  hating  even  the  garment 
spotted  by  the  fi,esh  " — though  this,  alas !  my  dear 
Master  could  not.  And  so  with  Jude  I  would 
end,  praying  for  all  of  us  and  ascribing  praise 
to  the  only  loise  God,  our  Saviour,  ivho  is  able  to 
guard  us  from  stumbling  and  set  us  faultless  before 
His  presence  loith  exceeding  joy. 

It  w^as  in  January,  1526,  after  a  tempest  last- 
ing three  days,  that  the  ship  called  the  Saint 
Andrew,  belonging  to  the  King  of  Portugal,  drove 
ashore  in  Gunwallo  Cove,  a  little  to  the  southward 
of  Pengersick.  She  was  bound  from  Elanders  to 
Lisbon  with  a  freight  extraordinary  rich — as  I 
know  after  a  fashion  by  my  own  eyesight,  as  well 
as  from  the  inventory  drawn  up  by  Master  Erancis 
Person,  an  Englishman,  travelling  on  board  of 
her  as  the  King  of  Portugal's  factor.  I  have  a 
copy  of  it  by  me  as  I  write,  and  here  are  some  of 
Master  Porson's  items: — 

8,000  cakes  of  copper,  valued  by  him  at  £3,224. 

18  blocks  of  silver,  "  "  £2,250. 

Sih^er  vessels,  plate,  patens,  ewers  and 

pots,  beside  pearls,  precious  stones, 

and  jewels  of  gold. 
Also  a  chest  of  coined  money,  in  amount  £6,240, 

There  was  also  cloth  of  arras,  tapestiy,  rich 
hangings,  satins,  velvets,  silks,  camlets,  says,  satins 

of  Bruges,  with  great  number  of  bales  of  Flemish 

93 


THE   LADY   OF   THE    SHIP 

and  English  clotli;  2,100  barber's  basins;  3,200 
laten  candlesticks;  a  great  chest  of  shalmers  and 
other  instruments  of  music;  four  sets  of  armour 
for  the  King  of  Portugal,  much  harness  for  his 
horses,  and  much  beside — the  whole  amounting  at 
the  least  computation  to  £16,000*  in  value.  And 
this  I  can  believe  on  confirmation  of  what  I  my- 
self saw  upon  the  beach. 

But  let  me  have  done  with  Master  Porson  and 
his  tale,  which  runs  that  the  Saint  Andrew,  hav- 
ing struck  at  the  mouth  of  the  cove,  there  utterly 
perished ;  yet,  by  the  grace  and  mercy  of  Almighty 
God,  the  greater  part  of  the  crew  got  safely  to 
land,  and  by  help  of  many  poor  folk  dwelling  in 
the  neighbourhood  saved  all  that  was  most  valu- 
able of  the  cargo.  But  shortly  after  (says  he) 
there  came  on  the  scene  three  gentlemen,  Thomas 
Saint  Aubyn,  William  Godolpliiii,  and  John  Milli- 
ton,  with  about  sixty  men  armed  in  manner  of  war 
with  bows  and  swords,  and  made  an  assault  on  the 
shipwrecked  sailors  and  put  them  in  great  fear  and 
jeopardy;  and  in  the  end  took  from  them  all  they 
had  saved  from  the  wreck,  amounting  to  £10,000 
of  treasure — "  which,"  says  he,  "  they  will  not 
yield  up,  nor  make  restitution,  though  they  have 
been  called  upon  to  do  so." 

*  About  £150,000  in  present  money. 
97 


THE    LADY    OF    THE    SHIP 

So  much  then  for  the  factor's  account,  which  I 
doubt  not  he  believed  to  be  true  enough;  albeit 
on  his  own  confession  he  had  lain  hurt  and  uncon- 
scious upon  the  beach  at  the  time,  and  liis  tale 
rested  therefore  on  what  he  could  learn  by  hear- 
say after  his  recovery:  when — the  matter  being 
so  important — he  was  at  trouble  to  journey  all  the 
way  to  London  and  lay  his  complaint  before  the 
Portuguese  ambassador.  Moreover  he  made  so 
fair  a  case  of  it  that  the  ambassador  obtained  of 
the  English  Court  a  Commissioner,  Sir  Nicholas 
Fleming,  to  travel  down  and  push  enquiries  on  the 
spot — when  Master  Porson  did  not  scruple  to  re- 
peat his  accusation  and  to  our  faces  (having  in- 
deed followed  the  Commissioner  down  for  that  pur- 
pose). I  must  say  I  thought  him  a  very  honest 
man — not  to  say  a  brave  one,  seeing  what  words 
he  dared  to  use  to  ]Mr.  Saint  Aubyn  in  his  own 
house  at  Clowance,  calling  him  a  mere  robber.  I 
was  there  when  he  said  it  and  made  me  go  hot  and 
cold,  knowing  (if  he  did  not)  that  for  two  pins 
Mr.  Saint  Aubyn  might  have  had  him  drowned 
like  a  puppy.  However,  he  chose  to  make  nothing 
of  an  insult  from  a  factor.  "  Mercator  tantum" 
replied  he,  snapping  his  fingers,  and  to  my  great 
joy;  for  any  violence  might  have  spoiled  the  story 
agreed  on  between  us — that  is,  between  Mr.  Saint 

98 


THE   LADY   OF   THE    SHIP 

Aubyn,  Mr.  Godolphin,  and  me  who  acted  as 
dei)iity  for  my  Master. 

This  story  of  oiii-s,  albeit  less  honest,  had  more 
colour  of  the  truth  than  Master  Porson's  hearsay. 
It  ran  that  Mr.  Saint  Aubyn,  happening  near 
Gunwallo,  heard  of  the  wreck  and  rode  to  it,  where 
presently  ]\Ir.  Godolphin  and  my  Master  joined 
him  and  helped  to  save  the  men;  that,  in  attempt- 
ing to  save  the  cargo  also,  a  man  of  Mr.  Saint 
Aubyn's — one  Will  Carnarthur — was  drowned; 
that,  in  fact,  very  little  was  rescued;  and,  seeing 
the  men  destitute  and  without  money  to  buy  meat 
and  drink,  we  bought  the  goods  in  lawful  bargain 
with  the  master.  As  for  the  assault,  we  denied  it, 
or  that  we  took  goods  to  the  value  of  ten  thousand 
pounds  from  the  sailors.  All  that  was  certainly 
known  to  be  saved  amounted  to  about  £20  worth; 
and,  in  spite  of  many  trials  to  recover  more,  which 
failed  to  pay  the  charges  of  labour,  the  bulk  of  the 
cargo  remained  in  the  ship  and  was  broken  up  by 
the  seas. 

This  was  our  tale,  false  in  parts,  yet  a  tnier  one 

than  either  of  us,  who  uttered  it,  believed.     The 

only  person  in  the  plot  (so  to  say)  who  knew  it 

to  be  true  in  substance  was  my  Master.     I,  his 

deputy,  took  this  version  from  him  to  Clowance 

with  a  mind  glad  enough   to  be  relieved  by  my 

99 


THE    LADY    OF    THE    SHIP 

duty  from  having  any  opinion  on  the  matter.  On 
the  one  hand,  I  had  the  evidence  of  my  senses 
that  the  booty  had  been  saved,  and  too  much  wit 
to  doubt  that  any  other  man  would  conclude  it 
to  be  in  my  Master's  possession.  On  the  other,  I 
had  never  known  him  lie  or  deceive,  or  engage 
me  to  further  any  deceit;  his  word  was  his  bond, 
and  by  practice  my  word  was  his  bond  also.  Fur- 
ther, of  this  affair  I  had  already  begun  to  wonder 
if  a  man's  plain  senses  could  be  trusted,  as  you 
will  hear  reason  by-and-by.  As  for  Mr.  Saint 
Aubyn  and  Mr.  Godolphin,  they  had  no  doubt  at 
all  that  my  Master  was  lying,  and  that  I  had  come 
wittingly  to  further  his  lie.  They  would  have 
drawn  on  him  (I  make  no  doubt)  had  he  brought 
the  tale  in  person.  From  me,  his  intermediate, 
they  took  it  as  the  best  to  suit  with  the  known 
truth  and  present  to  the  Commissioner.  All  Cor- 
nishmen  are  cousins,  you  may  say.  It  comes  to  this, 
rather:  these  gentlemen  chose  to  take  my  master's 
lie,  and  settle  with  him  afterwards,  rather  than 
make  a  clean  breast  and  be  forced  to  wring  their 
small  shares  out  of  the  Exchequer.  A  neighbour 
can  be  persuaded,  terrified,  forced;  but  London  is 
always  a  long  way  off,  and  London  lawyers  are  the 
devil.  I  say  freely  that  (knowing  no  more  than 
they  did,  or  T)  these  two  gentlemen  followed  a 

reasonable  policy. 

100 


THE   LADY    OF   THE    SHIP 

But,  after  we  had  fitted  Sir  Nicholas  with  our 
common  story,  and  as  I  was  mounting  my  horse 
in  Clowance  courtyard,  Mr.  Saint  Aubyn  came 
close  to  my  stirrup  and  said  this  by  way  of 
parting : 

"  You  will  understand,  JMr.  Tonkin,^  that  to- 
day's tale  is  for  to-day.  But  by  God  I  will  come 
and  take  my  share — you  may  tell  your  master — 
and  a  trifle  over!  And  the  next  time  I  overtake 
you  I  promise  to  put  a  bullet  in  the  back  of  your 
scrag  neck." 

For  answer  to  this — seeing  that  Master  Porson 
stood  at  an  easy  distance  with  his  eye  on  us — I 
saluted  him  gravely  and  rode  out  of  the  courtyard. 

Now  the  manner  of  the  wreck  was  this,  and  our 
concern  with  it.  So  nearly  as  I  can  learn,  the 
Saint  Andrew  came  ashore  at  two  hours  after 
noon:  the  date,  the  20tli  of  January,  1526,  and 
the  weather  at  the  time  coarse  and  foggy  with  a 
gale  yet  blowing  from  the  south-west  or  a  good 
west  of  south,  but  sensibly  abating,  and  the  tide 
wanting  an  hour  before  low  water. 

It  happened  that  Mr.  Saint  Aubyn  was  riding, 
with  twenty  men  at  his  back,  homeward  from 
Gweek,  where  he  had  spent  three  days  on  some 
private  business,  when  he  heard  news  of  the  ^vl•eck 

101 


THE   LADY    OF   THE    SHIP 

at  a  farmhouse  on  the  road  to  Helleston:  and  so 
turning  aside,  he,  whose  dwelling  laj  farthest  from 
it,  came  first  to  the  cove.  The  news  reached  us  at 
Pengersick  a  little  after  three  o'clock;  as  I  re- 
member because  my  Master  was  just  then  settled 
to  dinner.  But  he  rose  at  once  and  gave  word  to 
saddle  in  haste,  at  the  same  time  bidding  me  make 
readv  to  ride  with  him,  and  fifteen  others. 

So  we  set  forth  and  rode — the  wind  lulling,  but 
the  rain  coming  down  steadily — and  reached  Gun- 
wallo  Cove  with  a  little  daylight  to  spare.  On 
the  beach  there  we  found  most  of  the  foreigners 
landed,  but  seven  of  them  laid  out  starkly,  who 
had  been  drowned  or  brought  ashore  dead  (for  the 
yard  had  fallen  on  board,  the  day  before,  and  no 
time  left  in  the  ship's  extremity  to  bury  them): 
and  three  as  good  as  dead — among  whom  was  Mas- 
ter Porson,  with  a  great  wound  of  the  scalp:  also 
everywhere  great  piles  of  freight,  chests,  bales, 
and  casks — a  few  staved  and  taking  damage  from 
salt  water  and  rain,  but  the  most  in  apparent  good 
condition.  The  crew  had  worked  very  busily  at 
the  salving,  and  to  the  great  credit  of  men  who 
had  come  through  suffering  and  peril  of  death. 
Mr.  Saint  Aubyn's  band,  too,  had  lent  help,  though 
by  this  time  the  flo\ving  of  the  tide  forced  them 

to  give  over.     But  the  mnster  (as  one  might  say) 

102 


THE   LADY    OF   THE   SHIP 

of  their  endeavours  was  neither  the  Portuguese 
captain  nor  Mr.  Saint  Aubyn,  but  a  young  damsel 
whom  1  must  describe  more  particularly. 

She  was  standing,  as  we  rode  down  the  beach, 
nigh  to  the  water's  edge;  with  a  group  of  men; 
about  her,  and  jVIr.  Saint  Aubyn  himself  listening 
to  her  orders.  I  can  see  her  now  as  she  turned,  at 
our  approaching  and  she  and  my  Master  looked  for 
the  first  time  into  each  other's  eyes,  which  after- 
wards were  to  look  so  often  and  fondly.  In  age 
she  appeared  eighteen  or  twenty;  her  shape  a  mere 
girl's,  but  her  face  somewhat  older,  being  pinched 
and  peaked  by  the  cold,  yet  the  loveliest  I  have 
ever  seen  or  shall  see.  Her  hair,  which  seemed 
of  a  copper  red,  darkened  by  rain,  was  blown  about 
her  shoulders,  and  her  drenched  blue  gown,  hitched 
at  the  waist  with  a  snakeskin  girdle,  flapped  about 
her  as  she  turned  to  one  or  the  other,  using  more 
play  of  hands  than  oiu*  home-bred  ladies  do.  Her 
feet  were  bare  and  rosy;  ruddied  doubtless,  by 
the  wind  and  brine,  but  I  think  partly  also  by 
the  angry  light  of  the  sunsetting  whieli  broke  the 
weather  to  seaward  and  turned  the  pools  and  the 
wetted  sand  to  the  colour  of  blood.  A  hound  kept 
beside  her,  shivering  and  now  and  then  lowering 
his  muzzle  to  snifF  the  oreweed,  as  if  the  brine  of 

it  puzzled  him:    a  beast  in  shape  somewhat  like 

103 


THE    LADY    OF    THE    SHIP 

our  greyhounds,  but  longer  and  taller,  and  coated 
like  a  wolf. 

As  I  have  tried  to  describe  her  she  stood  amid 
the  men  and  the  tangle  of  the  beach;  a  shape 
majestical  and  yet  (as  we  drew  closer)  slight  and 
forlorn.  The  present  cause  of  her  gestures  we 
made  out  to  be  a  dark-skinned  fellow  whom  two 
of  Saint  Aubyn's  men  held  prisoner  with  his  arms 
trussed  behind  him.  On  her  other  hand  were  gath- 
ered the  rest  of  the  Portuguese,  very  sullen  and 
wdth  dark  looks  whenever  she  turned  from  them 
to  Saint  Aubyn  and  from  their  language  to  the 
English.  He,  I  could  see,  was  perplexed,  and 
stood  fingering  his  beard:  but  his  face  brightened 
as  he  came  a  step  to  meet  my  Master. 

"  Ha !  "  said  he,  "  you  can  help  us,  Milliton. 
You  speak  the  Portuguese,  I  believe?"  (For  my 
master  was  known  to  speak  most  of  the  languages 
of  Europe,  having  caught  them  up  in  his  youth 
when  his  father's  madness  forced  him  abroad. 
And  I  myself,  who  had  accompanied  him  so  far 
as  Venice,  could  pick  my  way  in  the  lingua 
Franca.)  "  This  fellow  " — pointing  at  the  pris- 
oner— "  has  just  drawn  a  knife  on  the  lady  here; 
and  indeeed  would  have  killed  her,  but  for  this 
hound  of  hers.     My  fellows  have  him  tight  and 

safe,  as  you  see :  but  I  was  thinking  by  your  leave 

104 


THE   LADY   OF   THE   SHIP 

to  lodge  him  with  you,  }'oiirs  being  the  nearest 
house  for  the  safe  keeping  of  such.  But  the 
plague  is,"  says  he,  "  there  seems  to  be  more  in 
the  business  than  I  can  fathom:  for  one  half  of 
these  drenched  villains  take  the  man's  part,  while 
scarce  one  of  them  seems  too  well  disposed  to- 
wards the  lady:  although  to  my  knowledge  she 
has  worked  more  than  any  ten  of  thcni  in  salving 
the  cargo.  And  heaven  help  me  if  I  can  under- 
stand a  word  of  their  chatter!  " 

My  Master  lifted  his  cap  to  her;  and  she  lifted 
her  eyes  to  him,  but  never  a  word  did  she  say, 
though  but  a  moment  since  she  had  been  using 
excellent  English.  Only  she  stood,  slight  and 
helpless  and  (I  swear)  most  pitiful,  as  one  say- 
ing, "  Here  is  my  judge.     I  am  content." 

My  Master  turned  to  the  prisoner  and  ques- 
tioned him  in  the  Portuguese.  But  the  fellow  (a 
man  taller  than  the  rest  and  passably  straight- 
looking)  would  confess  nothing  but  tliat  his  name 
was  Gil  Perez  of  Lagos,  the  boatswain  of  the 
wrecked  ship.  Questioned  of  the  assault,  he  shook 
his  head  merely  and  shrugged  his  shoulders.  His 
face  was  white:  it  seemed  to  me  unaccountably, 
until  glancing  down  I  took  note  of  a  torn  wound 
above  his   right   knee   on  the  inside,   where   the 

hound's  teeth  had  fastened. 

105 


THE    LADY    OF    THE    SHIP 

"But  who  is  the  captain  of  the  ship?"  my 
Master  demanded  in  Portuguese;  and  they  thrust 
forward  a  small  man  who  seemed  not  over-willing. 
Indeed  his  face  had  nothing  to  commend  him, 
being  sharp  and  yellow,  with  small  eyes  set  too 
near  against  the  nose. 

"  Your  name?  "  my  Master  demanded  of  him 
too. 

"  Affonzo  Cabral,"  he  answered,  and  plunged 
into  a  long  tale  of  the  loss  of  his  ship  and  how  it 
happened.  Cut  short  in  this  and  asked  concerning 
the  lady,  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  replied 
with  an  oath  he  knew  nothing  about  her  beyond 
this,  that  she  had  taken  passage  with  him  at  Dun- 
querque  for  Lisbon,  paying  him  beforehand  and 
bearing  him  a  letter  from  the  Bishop  of  Cambrai, 
which  conveyed  to  him  that  she  was  bound  on 
some  secret  mission  of  politics  to  the  Court  of 
Lisbon. 

As  I  thought,  two  or  three  of  the  men  would 
have  murmured  something  here,  but  for  a  look 
from  her,  who,  turning  to  my  Master,  said  quietly 
in  good  English: 

"  That  man  is  a  villain.     My  name  is  Alicia  of 

Bohemia,  and  my  mission  not  to  be  told  here  in 

public.     But  he  best  knows  why  he  took  me  for 

passenger,  and  how  he  has  behaved  towards  me. 

lOG 


THE    LADY    OF   THE    SHIP 

Yourselves  may  see  how  I  have  saved  his  freight. 
And  for  the  rest,  sir" — here  she  bent  her  eyes 
on  my  Master  very  frankly — "  I  have  proved  these 
men  and  claim  to  be  delivered  from  them." 

At  this  my  Master  knit  his  brows:  and  albeit  he 
was  a  young  man  (scarce  past  thirty)  and  a  hand- 
some, the  deep  wedge-mark  showed  between  them 
as  I  had  often  seen  it  show  over  the  nose  of  the 
old  man  his  father. 

"  I  think,"  said  he  to  Mr.  Saint  Aubyn,  "  this 
should  be  inquired  into  at  greater  leisure.  With 
your  leave  my  men  shall  take  the  prisoner  to  Pen- 
gersick  and  have  him  there  in  safe  keeping.  And 
if  " — with  a  bow — "  the  Lady  Alicia  will  accept 
my  poor  shelter  it  will  be  the  handier  for  our  ex- 
amining of  him.  For  the  rest,  cannot  we  be  of 
sen- ice  in  rescuing  yet  more  of  the  cargo  ? " 

But  this  for  the  while  was  out  of  question: 
the  Saint  Andrew  lying  well  out  upon  the  strand, 
with  never  fewer  than  four  or  five  ugly  breakers 
between  her  and  shore ;  and  so  balanced  that  every 
sea  worked  her  to  and  fro.  Moreover,  her  mizzen 
mast  yet  stood,  as  by  a  miracle,  and  the  weight 
of  it  so  strained  at  her  seams  that  (thought  I)  there 
could  be  very  little  left  of  her  by  the  next  ebb. 

By  now,  too,  the  night  was  closing  down,  and 

we  must  determine  what   to   do   with   the   cargo 

107 


THE    LADY    OF    THE    SHIP 

saved.  Mr.  Godolpliin,  who  had  ai-rived  with  his 
men  during  my  Master's  colloquy,  was  ready  with 
an  offer  of  wains  and  pack-horses  to  convey  the 
bulk  of  it  to  the  outhouses  at  Godolphin.  But 
this,  when  I  interpreted  it,  the  Portuguese  captain 
would  not  hear.  K^or  was  he  more  tractable  to 
Mr.  Saint  Aubyn's  offer  to  set  a  mixed  guard  of 
our  three  companies  upon  the  stuff  until  daybreak. 
He  plainly  had  his  doubts  of  such  protection:  and 
I  could  not  avoid  some  respect  for  his  wisdom 
while  showing  it  by  argument  to  be  mere  perver- 
sity. To  my  Master's  persuasions  and  mine  he 
shook  his  head:  asking  for  the  present  to  be  al- 
lowed a  little  fuel  and  refreshment  for  his  men, 
who  would  camp  on  the  beach  among  their  goods. 
And  to  this,  in  the  end,  we  had  to  consent.  Sev- 
eral times  before  agreeing — and  perhaps  more 
often  than  need  was — my  Master  consulted  with 
the  Lady  Alicia.  But  she  seemed  indifferent  what 
happened  to  the  ship.  Indeed,  she  might  well 
have  been  overwearied. 

At  length,  the  Portugals  having  it  their  own 
way,  we  parted:  Mr.  Saint  Aubyn  riding  off  to 
lodge  for  the  night  with  Mr.  Godolphin  who  took 
charge  of  the  three  wounded  men;  while  we  car- 
ried the  Lady  Alicia  off  to  Pengersick   (whither 

the  prisoner  Gil  Perez  had  been  marched  on  ahead), 

108 


THE    LADY    OF   THE    SHIP 

she  riding  pillion  behind  my  Master,  and  the  rest 
of  us  at  a  seemly  distance. 

On  reaching  homo  I  had  first  to  busy  myself 
with  orders  for  tho  victuals  to  be  sent  down  to 
the  foreigners  at  the  Cove,  and  afterwards  in 
snatching  my  supper  in  the  great  hall,  where  al- 
ready I  saw  my  Master  and  the  strange  lady 
making  good  cheer  together  at  the  high  table.  He 
had  bidden  tho  housekeeper  fetch  out  some  robes 
that  had  been  his  mother's,  and  in  these  antique 
fittings  the  lady  looked  not  awkwardly  (as  you 
might  suppose),  but  rather  like  some  player  in  a 
masque.  I  know  not  how  'twas:  but  whereas 
(saving  my  respect)  I  had  always  been  to  my  dear 
Master  as  a  brother,  close  to  his  heart  and  thoughts, 
her  coming  did  at  once  remove  him  to  a  distance 
from  me,  so  that  I  looked  on  the  pair  as  if  the 
dais  were  part  of  some  other  world  than,  this,  and 
they,  pledging  each  other  up  there  and  murmur- 
ing in  foreign  tongues  and  playing  with  glances, 
as  two  creatures  moving  through  a  play  or  pixy 
tale  without  care  or  burden  of  living,  and  yet  in 
the  end  to  be  pitied. 

My  fast  broken,  I  bethought  me  of  our  pris- 
oner; and  catching  up  some  meats  and  a  flask  of 
wine,  hurried  to  the  strong  room  where  he  lay. 

But  I  found  him  stretched  on  his  pallet,  and  turn- 

109 


THE   LADY    OF    THE    SHIP 

ing  in  a  kind  of  fever:  so  returned  and  fetched  a 
cooling  draught  in  place  of  the  victuals,  and  with- 
out questioning  made  him  drink  it.  He  thanked 
me  amid  some  rambling,  light-headed  talk — the 
most  of  it  too  quickly  poured  out  for  me  to  catch; 
but  by-and-by  grew  easier  and  drowsy.  I  left  him 
to  sleep,  putting  off  questions  for  the  morning. 

But  early  on  the  morrow — between  five  and  six 
o'clock — came  Will  Hendra,  a  cowkeeper,  into  our 
courtyard  with  a  strange  tale;  one  that  disquieted 
if  it  did  not  altogether  astonish  me.  The  tale — 
as  told  before  my  master,  whom  I  aroused  to  hear 
it — ran  thus:  that  between  midnight  and  one  in 
the  morning  the  Portugals  in  the  Cove  had  been 
set  upon  and  beaten  from  the  spoils  by  a  number 
of  men  with  pikes  (no  doubt  belonging  to  Saint 
Aubyn  or  Godolphin,  or  both),  and  forced  to  flee 
to  the  cliffs.  But  (here  came  in  the  wonder)  the 
assailants,  having  mastered  the  field,  fell  on  the 
casks,  chests,  and  packages,  only  to  find  them 
utterly  emj)ty  or  filled  with  weed  and  gravel! 
Of  freight — so  Will  Hendra  had  it  from  one  of 
Godolphin's  own  men,  who  were  now  searching 
the  cliffs  and  caverns — not  twelve-pennyworth  re- 
mained on  the  beach.  The  PortuG-als  must  have 
hidden  or  made  away  with  it  all.     He  added  that 

their  captain  had  been  found  at  the  foot  of  the 

110 


THE   LADY   OF   TTTE    SHIP 

cliffs  with  his  head  battered  iii;  but  whether  by 
a  fall  or  a  blow  taken  in  the  affray,  there  was  no 
telling. 

My  master  let  saddle  at  once  and  rode  away  for 
the  Cove  without  breaking  his  fast.  And  I  went 
about  my  customary  duties  until  full  daybreak, 
when  I  paid  a  visit  to  the  strong  room,  to  see  how 
the  prisoner  had  slept. 

I  found  him  sitting  up  in  bed  and  nursing  his 
leg,  the  wound  of  which  appeared  red  and  angry 
at  the  edges.  I  sent,  therefore,  for  a  fomentation, 
and  while  applying  it  thought  no  harm  to  tell  him 
the  report  from  the  Cove.  To  my  astonishment 
it  threw  him  into  a  transport,  though  whether  of 
rage  or  horror  I  could  not  at  first  tell.  But  he 
jerked  his  leg  from  my  grasp,  and  beating  the 
straw  with  both  fists  he  cried  out — 

"I  knew  it!  I  knew  it  would  be  so!  She  is 
a  witch — a  daughter  of  Satan,  or  his  leman!  It 
is  her  doing,  I  tell  you.  It  is  she  who  has  killed 
that  fool  Affonzo.  She  is  a  witch!"  He  fell 
back  on  the  straw,  his  strength  spent,  but  still  beat 
weakly  with  his  fists,  gasping  "  Witch — witch !  " 

"Hush!  "  said  I.     "You  are  light-headotl  with 

your  hurt.    Lie  quiet  and  let  me  tend  it." 

"  As  for  my  hurt,"  he  answered,  "  your  tending 

it  will  do  no  good.     The  poison  of  that  hound  of 

111 


THE    LADY    OF   THE    SHIP 

hell  is  in  me,  and  nothing  for  me  but  to  say  my 
prayers.  But  listen  you  " — here  he  sat  up  again 
and  plucked  me  by  the  shoulder  as  I  bent  over 
his  leg.  "  The  freight  is  not  gone,  and  good  rea- 
son for  why:   it  was  never  landed!  " 

"  Hey?  "  said  I,  incredulous. 

"  It  was  never  landed.  The  men  toiled  as  she 
ordered — Lord,  how  they  toiled!  Without  witch- 
craft they  had  never  done  the  half  of  it.  I  tell 
you  they  handled  moonshine — wove  sand.  The 
riches  they  brought  ashore  were  emptiness;  vain 
shows  that  already  have  turned  to  chips  and  straw 
and  rubbish.  Nay,  sir  " — for  I  drew  back  before 
these  ravings — "  listen  for  the  love  of  God,  before 
the  poison  gets  hold  of  me!  Soon  it  will  be  too 
late.  .  .  .  The  evening  before  we  sailed  from 
Dunquerque,  we  were  anchored  out  in  the  tide. 
It  was  my  watch.  I  was  leaning  on  the  rail  of 
the  poop  when  I  caught  sight  of  her  first.  She 
was  running  for  her  life  across  the  dunes — run- 
ning for  the  waterside — she  and  her  hound  beside 
her.  Away  behind  her,  like  ants  dotted  over  the 
rises  of  the  sand,  were  little  figures  running  and 
pursuing.  Down  by  the  waterside  one  boat  was 
waiting,  with  a  man  in  it — or  the  Devil  belike — 
leaning   on   his   oars.      She    whistled:    he    pulled 

close  in  shore.     She  leapt  into  the  boat  with  the 

113 


THE   LADY    OF   THE   SHIP 

dog  at  her  heels,  and  was  half-way  across  towards 
our  ship  before  the  first  of  those  after  her  reached 
the  water's  edge.  When  she  hailed  us  I  ran  and 
fetched  Affonzo,  the  master.  The  rest  I  charge 
to  his  folly.  It  was  he  who  handed  her  up  the 
ship's  side.  How  the  dog  came  on  board  I  know 
not:  only  that  I  leaned  over  the  bulwarks  to  have 
a  look  at  him,  but  heard  a  pattering  noise,  and 
there  he  was  on  deck  behind  me  and  close  beside 
his  mistress.  The  boat  and  rower  had  vanished — 
under  the  ship's  stern,  as  I  supposed,  but  now  I 
have  my  doubts.    I  saw  no  more  of  them,  anyhow. 

"  By  this  time  Affonzo  was  reading  her  letter. 
The  crowd  by  the  water's  edge  had  found  a  boat 
at  length — how,  I  know  not;  but  it  was  a  very 
little  one,  holding  but  six  men  besides  the  one 
rower,  and  then  over-laden.  They  pulled  towards 
us  and  hailed  just  as  the  lady  took  the  master's 
promise  and  went  down  to  seek  her  cabin:  and 
one  of  the  men  stood  up,  a  tall  gentleman  with  a 
chain  about  his  neck.  Affonzo  went  to  the  side  to 
parley  with  liini. 

"  The  tall  man  with  the  chain  cried  out  that 
he  was  mayor  or  provost — I  forget  which — and 
the  woman  must  be  given  up  as  a  proved  witch 
who  had  laid  the  wickedest  spells  upon  many  citi- 
zens of  Dunquerque.     All  this  he  had  to  shout; 

113 


THE   LADY    OF   THE    SHIP 

for  Affonzo,  who — eitlier  ignorantly  or  by  choice 
— was  already  on  Satan's  side,  would  not  suffer 
him  to  come  aboard  or  even  nigh  the  ship's  lad- 
der. Moreover,  he  drove  below  so  many  of  our 
crew  as  had  gathered  to  the  side  to  listen,  com- 
manding me  with  curses  to  see  to  this.  Yet  I 
heard  something  of  the  mayor's  accusation;  which 
was  that  the  woman  had  come  to  Dunquerque, 
travelling  as  a  great  lady  with  a  retinue  of  ser- 
vants and  letters  of  commendation  to  the  religious 
houses,  on  which  and  on  many  private  persons  of 
note  she  had  bestowed  relics  of  our  Lord  and  the 
saints,  pretending  it  was  for  a  penance  that  she 
journeyed  and  gave  the  bounties:  but  that,  at  a 
certain  hour,  these  relics  had  turned  into  toads, 
adders,  and  all  manner  of  abominable  offal,  defil- 
ing the  holy  places  and  private  shrines,  in  some 
instances  the  very  church  altars:  that  upon  the 
outcry  her  retinue  had  vanished,  and  she  herself 
taken  to  flight  as  we  saw  her  running. 

"  At  all  this  Affonzo  scoffed,  threatening  to 
sink  the  boat  if  further  troubled  with  their  im- 
portunities. And,  the  provost  using  threats  in 
return,  he  gave  order  to  let  weigh  incontinently 
and  clear  with  the  tide,  which  by  this  was  turaed 
to  ebb.     And  so,  amid  curses  which  we  answered 

by  display  of  our  guns,  wc  stood  out  from  that 

114 


THE   LADY    OF   THE    SHIP 

port.  Of  the  master's  purpose  I  make  no  guess. 
Either  he  was  bewitched,  or  the  woman  had  taken 
him  with  her  beauty,  and  he  dreamed  of  finding 
favour  with  her. 

"  This  only  I  know,  that  on  tlio  second  morn- 
ing, she  standing  on  deck  beside  him,  he  offered 
some  familiar  approach;  whereupon  the  dog  flew 
at  him,  and  I  believe  would  have  killed  him,  but 
was  in  time  called  off  by  her.  Within  an  hour 
we  met  with  the  weather  which  after  three  days 
drove  us  ashore.  Now  whether  Affonzo  suspected 
her  true  nature  or  not — as  I  know  ho  had  taken 
a  gTcat  fear  of  her — I  never  had  time  to  discover. 
But  I  know  her  for  a  witch,  and  as  a  witch  I 
tried  to  make  away  with  her.  For  the  rest,  may 
God  pardon  me!  " 

All  this  the  man  uttered  not  as  I  have  written 
it,  but  with  many  gasping  interruptions;  and  after- 
.  wards  lay  back  as  one  dead.  Before  I  could  make 
head  or  tail  of  my  wonder,  T  heard  cries  and  a 
clatter  from  the  courtyard,  and  ran  out  to  see  what 
was  amiss. 

In  the  courtyard  I  found  my  master  wnth  a 
dozen  men  closing  tlic  bolts  of  the  gTeat  gate 
against  a  company  who  rained  blows  and  hammer- 
ings on  the  outside  of  it.  My  Master  had  dis- 
mounted, and  while  he  called  his  orders  the  blood 

115 


THE   LADY   OF   THE    SHIP 

ran  down  his  face  from  a  cut  above  the  forehead. 
As  for  the  smoking  horses  on  which  they  had  rid- 
den in,  these  stood  huddling,  rubbing  shoulders, 
and  facing  all  ways  like  a  knot  of  frightened  colts. 

All  the  bolts  being  shut,  my  master  steps  to  the 
grille  and  speaking  through  it,  "  Saint  Aubyn," 
says  he,  "  between  gentlemen  there  are  fitter  ways 
to  dispute  than  brawling  with  servants.  I  am  no 
thief  or  robber;  as  you  inay  satisfy  yourself  by 
search  and  question,  bringing,  if  you  will,  Mr. 
Godolphin  and  three  men  to  help  you  under  pro- 
tection of  my  word.  If  you  will  not,  then  I  am 
ready  for  you  at  any  time  of  your  choosing.  But 
I  warn  you  that,  if  any  man  offers  further  violence 
to  my  gate,  I  send  Master  Tonkin  to  melt  the  lead, 
of  which  I  have  good  store.  So  make  your 
choice." 

He  said  it  in  English,  and  few  of  those  who 
heard  him  could  understand.  And  after  a  moment 
Saint  Aubyn,  who  was  a  very  courteous  gentle- 
man for  all  his  hot  temper,  made  answer  in  the 
same  tongue. 

"  If  I  cannot  take  your  word,  Pengersick,"  said 
he,  "  be  sure  no  searching  will  satisfy  me.  But 
that  some  of  your  men  have  made  off  with  the 
goods,  with  or  without  your  knowledge,  I  am  con- 
vinced." 

116 


THE   LADY    OF   THE   SHIP 

''  If  they  Lave "  my  Master  was  beginning, 

when  Godolpliin's  sneering  lai;gh  broke  in  on  his 
words  from  the  other  side  of  the  gate. 

"'If!'  '  If ! '  There  are  too  many  ifs  in 
this  parley  for  my  stomach.  Look  ye,  Penger- 
sick,  will  you  give  up  the  goods  or  no?  " 

Upon  this  my  Master  changed  his  tone.  "  As 
for  Mr.  Godolphin,  I  have  this  only  to  say:  the 
goods  are  neither  his  nor  mine;  they  arc  not  in 
my  keeping,  nor  do  I  believe  them  stolen  by  any 
of  my  men.  For  the  \yords  that  have  passed  be- 
tween us  to-day,  he  knows  me  well  enough  to  be 
sure  I  shall  hold  him  to  account,  and  that  soon: 
and  to  that  assurance  commending  him,  I  wish  you 
a  very  good  day." 

So  having  said,  he  strolled  off  towards  the 
stables,  leaving  me  to  listen  at  the  gate,  where  by- 
and-by,  after  some  disputing,  I  had  the  pleasure 
to  hear  our  besiegers  draw  otf  and  trot  away  to- 
wards Godolpliin.  Happening  to  take  a  glance 
upwards  at  the  house-front  I  caught  sight  of  the 
strange  lady  at  the  window  of  the  guest-chamber, 
which  faced  towards  the  south-east.  She  was  lean- 
ing forth  and  gazing  after  them :  but,  hearing  my 
Master's  footsteps  as  he  came  from  the  stables,  she 
withdrew  her  eyes  from  the  road  and  nodded  down 
at  liini  gaily. 

117 


THE   LADY    OF    THE    SHIP 

But  as  he  went  indoors  to  join  her  at  breakfast 
I  ran  after,  and  catching  him  in  the  porch,  be- 
sought him  to  liave  his  wound  seen  to.  "  And 
after  that,"  said  I,  "'  there  is  another  wounded 
man  who  needs  your  attention.  Unless  you  take 
his  deposition  quickly,  I  fear,  sir,  it  may  be  too 
late." 

His  eyebrows  went  up  at  this,  but  contracted 
again  upon  the  twinge  of  his  wound.  ''  I  will 
attend  to  him  first,"  said  he  shortly,  and  led  the 
way  to  the  strong  room.  "Hullo!  "  was  his  next 
word,  as  he  came  to  the  door — for  in  my  perturba- 
tion and  hurry  I  had  forgotten  to  lock  it. 

"  He  is  too  weak  to  move,"  I  stammered,  as 
my  poor  excuse. 

"  Nevertheless  it  was  not  well  done,"  he  replied, 
pushing  past  me. 

The  prisoner  lay  on  his  pallet,  gasping,  with 
his  eyes  wide  open  in  a  rigor.  "  Take  her  away!  " 
he  panted.  "  Take  her  away!     She  has  been  here!  " 

"  Hey?  "  I  cried:  but  my  Master  turned  on  me 
sharply.  To  this  day  I  know  not  how  much  of 
evil  he  suspected. 

"  I  will  summon  you  if  I  need  you.  For  the 
present  you  will  leave  us  here  alone." 

Nor  can  I  tell  what  passed  between  them  for 

the  next  half-an-hour.     Only  that  when  he  came 

118 


THE    LADY    OF    THE    SHIP 

forth  my  Master's  face  was  white  and  set  beneath 
its  dry  smear  of  blood.  Passing  me,  who  waited 
at  the  end  of  the  corridor,  he  said,  but  without 
meeting  my  eyes: 

"  Go  to  him.     The  end  is  near." 

I  went  to  him.  He  lay  pretty  much  as  I  had 
left  him,  in  a  kind  of  stupor;  out  of  which,  with- 
in the  hour,  he  started  suddenly  and  began  to  rave. 
Soon  I  had  to  send  for  a  couple  of  our  stablemen; 
and  not  too  soon.  Eor  by  this  he  was  foaming  at 
tlie  mouth  and  gnashing,  the  man  in  him  turned 
to  beast  and  trying  to  bite,  so  that  we  were  forced 
to  strap  him  to  his  bed.  I  shall  say  no  more  of 
this,  the  most  horrible  sight  of  my  life.  The  end 
came  quietly,  about  six  in  the  evening:  and  we 
buried  the  poor  wretch  that  night  in  the  orchard 
under  the  chapel  wall. 

All  that  day,  as  you  may  guess,  I  saw  nothing 
of  the  strange  lady.  And  on  the  morrow  until 
dinner-time  I  had  but  a  glimpse  of  her.  This  was 
in  the  forenoon.  She  stood,  with  her  hound  be- 
side her,  in  an  embrasure  of  the  wall,  looking  over 
the  sea:  to  the  eye  a  figure  so  maidenly  and  inno- 
cent and  (in  a  sense)  forlorn  that  I  recalled  Gil 
Perez'  tale  as  the  merest  frenzy,  and  wondered 
how  I  had  come  to  listen  to  it  with  any  belief. 

Her  seaward  gaze  would  be  passing  over  the  very 

119 


THE   LADY   OF   THE    SHIP 

spot  where  we  had  laid  him:  only  a  low  wall  hid- 
ing the  freshly  turned  earth.  My  Master  had 
ridden  off  early:    I  could  guess  upon  what  errand. 

He  returned  shortly  after  noon,  unhurt  and 
looking  like  a  man  satisfied  with  his  morning's 
work.  And  at  dinner,  watching  his  demeanour 
narrowly,  I  was  satisfied  that  either  he  had  not 
heard  the  prisoner's  tale  or  had  rejected  it  utterly. 
For  he  took  his  seat  in  the  gayest  spirits,  and 
laughed  and  talked  with  the  stranger  throughout 
the  meal.  And  afterwards,  having  fetched  an  old 
lute  which  had  been  his  mother's,  he  sat  and 
watched  her  fit  new  strings  to  it,  rallying  her  over 
her  tangle.  But  when  she  had  it  tuned  and,  touch- 
ing it  softly,  began  the  first  of  those  murmuring 
heathenish  songs  to  which  I  have  since  listened  so 
often,  pausing  in  my  work,  but  never  without  a 
kind  of  terror  at  beauty  so  far  above  my  compre- 
hending— why,  then  my  Master  laughed  no  more. 

He  had  met  Godolphin  that  morning  and  run 
him  through  the  thigh.  And  that  bitterest  enemy 
of  ours  still  wore  a  crutch  a  month  later,  when  we 
faced  Master  Porson  before  the  Commissioner  in 
Saint  Aubyn's  house  at  Clowance.  At  that  con- 
ference (not  to  linger  over  the  time  between)  the 
Commissioner  showed  himself  pardonably  suspi- 
cious of  us  all.     He  was  a  dry  foxy-faced  man,  who 

130 


THE   LADY    OF   THE   SHIP 

spoke  little  and  at  times  seemed  scarce  to  be  lis- 
tening-; rather  to  be  turning  over  some  deeper 
business  in  his  brain  behind  his  grey-coloured  eyes. 
But  at  length,  Mr.  Saint  Aubyn  having  twice  or 
thrice  made  mention  of  the  Lady  Alicia  and  her 
presence  on  the  beach,  this  Sir  ^Nicholas  looked  up 
at  me  sharply,  and  said  he: 

"  By  all  accounts  this  lady  was  a  passenger 
shipped  by  the  master  at  Dunquerque.  It  seems 
she  was  a  foreign  lady  of  birth,  bearing  letters 
commendatory  to  the  Court  of  Lisbon." 

"  That  was  his  stoiy  of  it,"  JMaster  Person  as- 
sented. "  I  was  below  and  busy  with  the  cargo 
at  the  time,  and  knew  nothing  of  her  presence  on 
board  until  we  had  cleai'ed  the  harbour." 

"  And  at  this  moment  she  is  a  guest  of  Mr. 

Milliton's,  at  Pcngersick?"  pursued  Sir  Nicholas, 

still  with  his  eyes  upon  mine.     I  bowed,  feeling 

mightily  uneasy.      "  It  is  most  necessary  that  I 

should  take  her  evidence — and  ]\lr,  Milliton's.     In 

all  the  statements  received  by  me   Mr.    Milliton 

bears  no  small  part:    his  house  lies  at  no  distance 

from  Gunwallo  Cove:    and  T  have  heard  much  of 

yoiu*  Cornisli  courtesy.     It  appears  to  me  singular, 

therefore,  that  altliough   I  have  been  these  four 

days  in  his  neighbourhood  no  invitation  has  reached 

me  to  visit  his  house  and  have  audience  with  him: 

121 


THE   LADY    OF   THE    SHIP 

and  it  argues  small  courtesy  that  on  coming  here 
to-day  in  full  expectation  of  seeing  him,  I  should 
be  fobbed  off  with  a  deputy." 

"  Though  but  a  deputy,"  I  protested,  "  I  have 
my  master's  entire  confidence." 

"  No  doubt,"  said  he  drily.  "  But  it  would  be 
more  to  the  point  if  you  had  mine.  It  is  impera- 
tive that  I  see  Mr.  Milliton  of  Pengersick  and  hear 
his  evidence,  as  also  this  Lady  Alicia's:  and  you 
may  bear  him  my  respects  and  say  that  I  intend  to 
call  upon  him  to-morrow." 

I  bowed.  It  was  all  I  could  do :  since  the  truth 
(for  different  reasons)  could  neither  be  told  to  him 
nor  to  the  others.  And  the  truth  was  that  for  two 
days  my  Master  and  the  strange  lady  had  not  been 
seen  at  Pengersick!  They  had  vanished,  and  two 
horses  with  them:  but  when  and  how  I  neither 
knew  nor  dared  push  inquiries  to  discover.  Only 
the  porter  could  have  told  me  had  he  chosen;  but 
when  I  questioned  him  he  looked  cunning,  shook 
his  head,  and  as  good  as  hinted  that  I  would  be 
wiser  to  question  nobody,  but  go  about  my  busi- 
ness as  if  I  shared  the  secret. 

And  so   I  did,   imitating   the   porter's   manner 

even  before  Dame  Tresize,  the  housekeeper.     But 

it  rankled  that,  even  while  instructing  me — as  he 

did  on  the  eve  of  his  departing — in  the  part  I  was 

123 


THE   LADY   OF   THE    SHIP 

to  play  at  Clowaneo,  my  Master  had  chosen  to 
shut  mc  out  of  this  part  of  his  conficlenee.  And 
now  on  the  road  home  from  Clowance  I  can'ied 
an  anxious  heart  as  well  as  a  sore.  To  tell  the 
truth — that  my  Master  was  away — I  had  not  been 
able,  knowing  how  prompt  Saint  Aubyn  and  Go- 
dolphin  might  be  to  take  the  advantage  and  pay 
us  an  unwelcome  visit.  "  And  indeed,"  thought  I, 
"  if  my  Master  hides  one  thing  from  me,  why  not 
another?  The  stuff  may  indeed  be  stored  with  us: 
though  I  will  not  believe  it  without  proof."  The 
Commissioner  would  come,  beyond  a  doubt.  To 
discover  my  Master's  absence  would  quicken  his 
suspicions:  to  deny  him  admittance  would  do  the 
same. 

I  reached  home,  yet  could  get  no  sleep  for  my 
quandary.  But  a  little  before  the  da^vning,  while 
I  did  on  my  clothes,  there  came  a  knocking  at  the 
gate  followed  by  a  clatter  of  hoofs  in  the  court- 
yard; and  hurrying  down,  with  but  ixiusc  to  light 
my  lantern,  I  found  my  Master  there  and  helping 
the  strange  lady  to  dismount,  with  the  porter  and 
two  sleepy  grooms  standing  by  and  holding  torches. 
Beneath  the  belly  of  the  lady's  horse  stood  her 
hound,  his  tongue  lolling  and  his  coat  a  cake  of 
mire.     The  night  had  been  chilly  and  the  nostrils 

of  the  hard-ridden  beasts  made  a  steam  among  the 

123 


THE    LADY    OF    THE    SHIP 

lights  we  held,  while  above  lis  the  upper  frontage 
of  the  house  stood  out  clear  between  the  gromng 
daylight  and  the  waning  moon  poised  above  the 
courtlege-w^all  in  the  south-west. 

"Hey!  Is  that  Paschal?"  My  Master  turned 
as  one  stiff  with  riding.  His  face  was  ghastly  pale, 
yet  full  of  a  sort  of  happiness:  and  I  saw  that 
his  clothes  were  disordered  and  his  boots  mired  to 
their  tops.  "  Good  luck,"  cried  he,  handing  the 
lady  dowm.     "  We  can  have  supper  at  once." 

"  Supper?  "     I  repeated  it  after  him. 

"  Or  breakfast — which  you  choose.  Have  the 
lights  lit  in  the  hall,  and  a  table  spread.  My  lady 
will  eat  and  drink  before  going  to  her  room." 

"  '  My  lady  '  ?  "  was  my  echo  again. 

"  Just  so — my  lady,  and  my  wdfe,  and  hence- 
forward your  mistress.  Lead  the  way,  if  you 
please!     Afterwards  I  will  talk." 

I  did  as  I  was  ordered:  lit  the  lights  about  the 
dai's,  spread  the  cloth  with  my  own  hands,  fetched 
forth  the  cold  meats  and — for  he  would  have  no 
servants  aroused — waited  upon  them  in  silence  and 
poured  the  wine,  all  in  a  whirl  of  mind.  My  mis- 
tress (as  I  must  now  call  her)  showed  no  fatigue, 
though  her  skirts  were  soiled  as  if  they  had  been 
dragged  through  a  sea  of  mud.     Her  eyes  sparkled 

and  her  bosom  heaved  as  she  watched  my  master, 

124 


THE    LADY    OF    THE    SHIP 

wlio  ate  greedily.  But  beyond  the  gallant  words 
with  which  he  pledged  her  welcome  home  to  Pen- 
gersick  nothing  was  said  until,  his  hunger  put 
away,  he  pushed  back  his  chair  and  commanded 
me  to  tell  what  had  happened  at  Clowance:  which 
I  did,  pointing  out  the  ticklish  posture  of  affairs, 
and  that  for  a  certaintv  the  Commissioner  might 
be  looked  for  in  within  a  few  hours. 

"  Well,"  said  mv  master,  "  I  see  no  harm  in 
his  coming,  nor  any  good.  The  goods  are  not 
with  us:  never  were  with  us:  and  there's  the 
end  of  it." 

But  I  was  looking  from  him  to  my  Mistress, 
who  with  bent  brows  sat  studying  the  table  be- 
fore her. 

"  Master  Paschal,"  said  she  after  a  while  as 
one  awaking  from  thought,  "  has  done  his  busi- 
ness zealously  and  well.  I  will  go  to  my  room 
now  and  rest:  but  let  me  be  aroused  when  this 
visitor  comes,  for  I  believe  that  I  can  deal  witli 
him."  And  she  rose  and  walked  away  to  the  stair, 
with  the  hound  at  her  heels. 

A  little  later  I  saw  my  Master  to  his  room:    and 

after  that  had  some  hours  of  leisure  in  which  to 

fret  my  mind  as  well  over  what  liad  happened  as 

what  was  likely  to.     It  was  luud   on   noon  wlien 

the  Commissioner  arrived:    and  with  hiui  Master 

125 


THE    LADY    OF    THE    SHIP 

Porson.  I  led  them  at  once  to  tlie  liall  and,  set- 
ting wine  before  tliem,  sent  to  learn  when  my 
Master  and  Mistress  would  be  pleased  to  give  audi- 
ence. The  lady  came  down  almost  at  once,  look- 
ing very  rosy  and  fresh.  She  held  a  packet  of 
papers,  and  having  saluted  the  Commissioner  gra- 
ciously, motioned  me  to  seat  myself  at  the  table 
with  paper  and  pen. 

Sir  Nicholas  began  with  some  question  touch- 
ing her  business  on  board  the  Saint  Andrew:  and 
in  answer  she  drew  a  paper  from  the  top  of  her 
packet.  It  was  sj^otted  with  sea-water,  but  (as  I 
could  see)  yet  legible.  The  Commissioner  studied 
it,  showed  it  to  Master  Porson  (who  nodded),  and 
handing  it  back  politely,  begged  her  for  some  par- 
ticulars concerning  the  wreck. 

Upon  this  she  told  the  story  clearly  and  simply. 
There  had  been  a  three  days'  tempest:  the  ship 
had  gone  ashore  in  such  and  such  a  manner:  a 
great  part  of  the  cargo  had  undoubtedly  been 
landed.  It  was  on  the  beach  when  she  had  left  it 
under  conduct  of  Mr.  Milliton,  who  had  shown  her 
great  kindness.  On  whomsoever  its  disappearance 
might  be  charged,  of  her  host's  innocence  she  could 
speak. 

My  Master  appearing  just  now  saluted  the  Com- 
missioner and  gave  his  version  very  readily. 

126 


THE    LADY    OF    THE    SHIP 

"  You  may  search  my  cellars,"  he  woimd  up, 
"  and,  if  you  please,  interrogate  my  servants.  My 
livery  is  known  by  everyone  in  this  neighbourhood 
to  be  purple  and  tawny.  The  seamen  can  tell  you 
if  any  of  their  assailants  wore  these  colours." 

"  They  assure  me,"  said  Sir  ISTicholas,  "  that  the 
night  was  too  dark  to  observe  colours:  and  for 
that  matter  to  disgniise  them  would  have  been  a 
natural  precaution.  There  was  a  wounded  man 
brought  to  your  house — one  Gil  Perez,  the  boat- 
swain." 

"  He  is  dead,  as  you  doubtless  know,  of  a  bite 
received  from  this  lady's  hound  as  lie  was  attack- 
ing her  with  a  knife." 

"  But  why,  madam  " — the  Commissioner  turned 
to  my  Mistress — "  should  this  man  have  attacked 
you?" 

She  appeared  to  be  expecting  this  question,  and 
drew  from  her  packet  a  second  paper,  which  she 
unfolded  quietly  and  spread  on  the  table,  yet  kept 
her  palm  over  the  writing  on  it  while  she  answered, 
"  Those  who  engage  upon  missions  of  State  must 
look  to  meet  with  attacks,  but  not  to  be  asked  to 
explain  them.  The  mob  at  Dunquerque  pursued 
me  upon  a  ridiculous  charge,  yet  was  wisely  in- 
cited by  men  who  invented  it,  knowing  the  true 

purpose  of  my  mission."     She  glanced  from  the 

187 


THE    LADY    OF    THE    SHIP 

Commissioner  to  Master  Person.  "  Sir  Nicholas 
Fleming — surely  I  have  heai^d  his  name  spoken — 
as  of  a  good  friend  of  the  Holy  Father,  and  not 
too  anxious  for  the  Emperor's  marriage  with  Mary 
Tudor?  "  The  Commissioner  started  in  his  chair, 
while  she  turned  serenely  upon  his  companion. 
"  And  Master  Porson,"  she  continued,  "  as  a  faith- 
ful servant  of  His  Majesty  of  Portugal  will  needs 
be  glad  to  see  a  princess  of  Portugal  take  Mary 
Tudor's  place.  Eh?  " — for  they  were  eyeing  each 
the  other  like  two  detected  schoolboys — "  it  would 
seem,  Sirs,  that  though  you  came  together,  you 
were  better  friends  than  you  guessed.  Glance 
your  eye,  Master  Porson,  over  this  paper  which  I 
shall  presently  entrust  to  you  for  furtherance;  and 
you  will  agree  with  Sir  I^icholas  that  the  prudent 
course  for  both  of  you  is  to  forget,  on  leaving  this 
house,  that  any  such  person  as  I  was  on  board  the 
Saint  Andrew.''^ 

The  two  peered  into  the  parchment  and  drew 
back,  "  The  Emperor "  I  heard  the  Com- 
missioner mutter  with  an  intake  of  breath. 

"  And,  as  you  perceive,  in  his  own  handwrit- 
ing." She  folded  up  the  paper  and,  replacing  it, 
addressed  my  Master.  "  Your  visitors,  sir,  de- 
serve    some    refreshment    for    their    pains     and 

courtesy." 

128 


THE   LADY    OF   THE    SHIP 

And  that  was  the  end  of  the  conference.  Wliat 
that  paper  contained  I  know  as  little  as  I  know 
by  what  infernal  sorcery  it  was  prepared.  Master 
Porson  folded  it  up  tight  in  his  hand,  glancing 
dubiously  at  Sir  Nicholas.  My  lady  stood  smiling 
upon  them  both  for  a  moment,  then  dismissed  me 
to  the  kitchen  upon  a  pretended  errand.  They 
were  gone  when  I  returned,  nor  did  I  again  set 
eyes  on  the  Commissioner  or  the  factor.  It  is  true 
that  the  Emperor  did  about  this  time  break  his 
pledge  with  our  King  Henry  and  marry  a  prin- 
cess of  Portugal;  and  some  of  high  office  in 
England  were  not  sorry  therefor.  But  enough 
of  this. 

As  the  days  wore  on  and  we  heard  no  more  of 
the  wreck,  my  Master  and  Mistress  settled  down 
to  that  retirement  from  the  Avorld  which  is  by  cus- 
tom allowed  to  the  newly  married,  but  which  with 
them  was  to  last  to  the  end.  A  life  of  love  it  was; 
but — God  help  us  ! — no  life  of  happiness;  rather, 
in  process  of  days,  a  life  of  torment.  Can  I  tell 
you  how  it  was?  At  first  to  see  them  together  was 
like  looking  through  a  glass  upon  a  picture;  a 
l^icture  gallant  and  beautiful,  yet  removed  behind 
a  screen,  and  not  of  this  world.     Suppose  now  that 

by  little  and  little  the  glass  began  to  be  flawed 

129 


THE   LADY    OF    THE    SHIP 

or  the  picture  behind  it  to  crumble  (you  could  not 
tell  which)  until  when  it  smiled  it  smiled  wryly, 
until  rocks  toppled  and  figures  fell  askew,  yet  still 
kept  up  their  pretence  of  play  against  the  dis- 
torted woodland.  N^ay,  it  was  worse  than  this: 
fifty  times  worse.  Eor  while  the  fair  show  tot- 
tered, my  Master  and  Mistress  clung  to  their  love; 
and  yet  it  was  just  their  love  which  kept  the  foun- 
dations rocking. 

They  lived  for  each  other.  They  neither  visited 
nor  received  visits.  Yet  they  were  often,  and  by 
degrees  oftener,  apart;  my  Master  locked  up  with 
his  books,  my  Mistress  roaming  the  walls  with  her 
hound  or  seated  by  her  lattice  high  on  the  sea- 
ward side  of  the  castle.  Sometimes  (but  this  was 
usually  on  moonlit  nights  or  windless  evenings 
when  the  sun  sank  clear  to  view  over  our  broad 
bay)  she  would  take  up  her  lute  and  touch  it  to 
one  of  those  outlandish  love-chants  with  which  she 
had  first  wiled  my  Master's  heart  to  her.  As  time 
went  on,  stories  came  to  us  that  these  chants,  which 
fell  so  softly  on  the  ears  of  us  as  we  went  about 
the  rooms  and  gardens,  had  been  heard  by  fisher- 
men riding  by  their  nets  far  in  the  ofiing — so  far 
away  (I  have  heard)  as  the  Scillies;  and  there  were 
tales  of  men  who,  as  they  listened,  had  seen  the 

ghosts  of  drowned  men  rising  and  falling  on  the 

130 


THE    LADY    OF   THE    SHIP 

moon-rays,  or  floating  witli  their  white  faces  thrown 
back  while  they  drank  in  the  mnsic;  yea,  even 
echoing  the  words  of  the  song  in  ^vhispers  like  the 
flutter  of  birds'  wings. 

When  first  the  word  crept  about  that  she  was 
a  witch  I  cannot  certainly  say.  But  in  time  it  did ; 
and,  what  is  more — though  I  will  swear  that  no 
word  of  Gil  Perez'  confession  ever  passed  my  lips 
— the  common  folk  soon  held  it  for  a  certainty 
that  the  cargo  saved  from  the  Saint  Andrciv  had 
been  saved  by  her  magic  only;  that  the  plate  and 
rich  stuffs  seen  by  my  own  eyes  were  but  cheating 
simulacra  and  had  turned  into  nibbish  at  mid- 
night, scarce  an  hour  before  the  assault  on  the 
Portuguese. 

I  have  wondered  since  if  'twas  this  rumour  and 
some  belief  in  it  which  held  Messrs.  Saint  Aubyn 
and  Godolphin  from  offering  any  further  attack 
on  us.  You  might  say  that  it  was  open  to  them, 
so  believing,  to  have  denounced  her  publicly.  But 
in  our  country  Holy  Church  had  little  hold — 
scarce  more  than  the  King's  law  itself  in  such  mat- 
ters; and  within  my  memory  it  has  always  come 
easier  to  us  to  fear  witchcraft  than  to  denounce 
it.  Also  (and  it  concerns  my  tale)  the  three  years 
which  followed  the  stranding  of  the  Saint  Andrew 

were  remarkable   for  a   great  number  of  wrecks 

131 


THE   LADY    OF    THE    SHIP 

upon  our  coast.  In  that  short  time  we  of  our 
parish  and  the  men  of  St.  Hilary  upon  our  north 
were  between  us  favoured  with  no  fewer  than  four- 
teen; the  most  of  them  vessels  of  goo<l  burden. 
Of  any  hand  in  bringing  them  ashore  I  know  our 
gentry  to  have  been  innocent.  Still,  there  were 
pickings;  and  finding  that  my  master  held  aloof 
from  all  share  in  such  and  (as  far  as  could  be) 
held  his  servants  aloof,  our  neighbours,  though  not 
accepting  this  for  quittance,  forbore  to  press  the 
affair  of  the  Saint  Andrew  further  than  by  spread- 
ing injurious  tales  and  whispers. 

The  marvel  was  that  we  of  Pengersick  (who 
reaped  nothing  of  this  harvest)  fell  none  the  less 
under  suspicion  of  decoying  the  vessels  ashore. 
More  than  once  in  my  dealings  vnth.  the  fisher- 
men and  tradesmen  of  Market  Jew,  I  happened 
on  hints  of  this;  but  nothing  which  could  be  taken 
hold  of  until  one  day  a  certain  Peter  Chynoweth 
of  that  town,  coming  drunk  to  Pengersick  with  a 
basket  of  fish,  blurted  out  the  tale.  Said  he,  after 
I  had  beaten  him  down  to  a  reasonable  price, 
"  'T would  be  easy  enough,  one  would  think,  to 
spare  an  honest  man  a  groat  of  the  fortune  Pen- 
gersick makes  on  these  dark  nights." 

"  Thou  l}dng  thief!  "  said  I.  "  What  new  slan- 
der is  this  ? " 

133 


THE   LADY   OF   THE   SHir 


<( 


Come,  come,"  says  he,  looking  rof^iish ;  "  that 
won't  do  for  me  that  have  seen  the  false  light  on 
Ciiddan  Point  more  times  than  I  can  count;  and 
so  has  every  fisherman  in  the  bay." 

Well,  I  kicked  him  through  the  gate  for  it,  and 
flung  his  basket  after  him;  but  the  tale  could  not 
be  so  dismissed.  "  It  may  be,"  thought  I,  "  some 
one  of  Pengcrsick  has  engaged  upon  this  wicked- 
ness on  his  own  account";  and  for  my  Master's 
credit  I  resolved  to  keep  watch. 

I  took  therefore  the  porter  into  my  secret,  who 
agreed  to  let  me  through  the  gate  towards  mid- 
night and  without  telling  a  soul.  I  took  a  sheep- 
skin with  me  and  a  poignard  for  protection;  and 
for  a  week,  from  midnight  to  dawn,  I  played  sen- 
tinel on  Cuddan  Point,  walking  to  and  fro,  or 
stretched  under  the  lee  of  a  ro<'k  whence  I  could 
not  miss  any  light  shown  on  tlie  headland,  if  Peter 
Chynoweth's  tale  held  any  truth. 

By  the  eighth  trial  I  had  pretty  well  made  up 

my  mind  (and  without  astonishment)  that  Peter 

Chynoweth  was  a  liar.    But  scarcely  had  I  reached 

my  post  that  night  when,  turning,   I  descried  a 

radiance,  as  of  a  lantern,  following  me  at  some 

fifty  paces.     On  the  instant  I  gripped  my  poignard 

and  stepped  behind   a  boulder.     The   light  drew 

nearer,  came,  and  passed  me.     To  my  bewilder- 

133 


THE   LADY    OF    THE    SHIP 

ment  it  was  no  lantern,  but  an  open  flame,  run- 
ning close  along  the  turf  and  too  low  for  anyone 
to  be  carrying  it:  nor  was  the  motion  that  of  a 
light  which  a  man  carries.  Moreover,  though  it 
passed  me  within  half-a-dozen  yards  and  lit  up  the 
stone  I  stood  behind,  I  saw  nobody  and  heard  no 
footstep,  though  the  wind  (which  was  south-west- 
erly) blew  from  it  to  me.  In  this  breeze  the  flame 
quivered,  though  not  violently  but  as  it  were  a 
ball  of  fire  rolling  with  a  flickering  crest. 

It  went  by,  and  I  followed  it  at  something 
above  walking  pace  until  upon  the  very  verge  of 
the  headland,  where  I  had  no  \y\\\  to  risk  my  neck, 
it  halted  and  began  to  be  heaved  up  and  down 
much  like  the  poop-light  of  a  vessel  at  sea.  In  this 
play  it  continued  for  an  hour  at  least;  then  it 
came  steadily  back  towards  me  by  the  way  it  had 
gone,  and  as  it  came  I  ran  upon  it  with  my  dagger. 
But  it  slipped  by  me,  travelling  at  speed  towards 
the  mainland;  whither  I  pelted  after  it  hot-foot, 
and  so  across  the  fields  towards  Pengersick.  Strain 
as  I  might,  I  could  not  overtake  it;  yet  contrived 
to  kee])  it  within  view,  and  so  well  that  I  was 
bare  a  Imndrcd  yards  behind  when  it  came  under 
the  black  shadow  of  the  castle  and  without  pause 
glided  across  the  dry  moat  and  so  up  the  face  of 

the  wall  to  my  lady's  window,  which  there  over- 

134 


TlIK    LADY    OF   THE    SHIP 

hung.  And  into  tliis  window  it  passed  before  my 
very  eyes  and  vanished. 

I  know  not  what  emboldened  me,  but  from  the 
porter's  lodge  I  went  straight  iij)  to  my  master's 
chamber,  where  (though  the  hour  must  have  been 
two  in  the  morning  or  thereabouts)  a  light  was 
yet  burning.  Also — but  this  had  become  ordinary 
— a  smell  of  burning  gums  and  herbs  filled  the 
passage  leading  to  his  door.  He  opened  to  my 
knock,  and  stood  before  me  in  his  dressing-gown 
of  sables — a  tall  figure  of  a  man  and  youthful, 
though  already  beginning  to  stoop.  Over  his 
shoulder  I  perceived  the  room  swimming  with. 
coils  of  smoke  which  floated  in  their  wreaths  from 
a  brazier  hard  by  the  fh'eplace. 

I  think  his  first  motion  was  to  thrust  me  away; 
but  I  caught  him  by  the  hand,  and  with  many 
protestations  broke  into  my  tale,  giving  him  no 
time  to  forbid  me.  And  presently  he  drew  me 
inside,  and  shutting  the  door,  stood  upright  by  the 
table,  facing  me  with  his  fingers  on  the  rim  as  if 
they  rested  there  for  support. 

"  Paschal,"  said  he,  when  at  length  I  drew  back, 
"  this  must  not  come  to  my  lady's  ears.  She  has 
been  ailing  of  late." 

"  Ay,  sir,  and  long  since :   of  a  disease  past  your 


curing." 


135 


THE    LADY    OF    THE    SHIP 

"  God  help  us!  I  hope  not,"  said  he;  then 
broke  out  violently:  "  She  is  innocent,  Paschal; 
innocent  as  a  child!  " 

"  Innocent !  "  cried  I,  in  a  voice  which  showed 
how  little  I  believed. 

"  Paschal,"  he  went  on,  "  you  are  my  servant, 
but  my  friend  also,  I  hope.  Nay,  nay,  I  know. 
I  swear  to  you,  then,  these  things  do  but  happen 
in  her  sleep.  In  her  waking  senses  she  is  mine, 
as  one  day  she  shall  be  mine  wholly.  But  at  night, 
when  her  will  is  dissolved  in  sleep,  the  evil  spirit 
wakes  and  goes  questing  after  its  master." 

"Mahound?"  I  stammered,  quaking. 

"  Be  it  Satan  himself,"  said  he,  very  low  and 
resolute,  "  I  will  win  her  from  him,  though  my 
own  soul  be  the  ransom." 

"  Dear  my  Master,"  I  began,  and  would  have 
implored  him  on  my  knees;  but  he  pointed  to  the 
door.  "  I  will  win  her,"  he  repeated.  "  What 
you  have  seen  to-night  happens  more  rarely  now. 
Moreover,  the  summer  is  beginning " 

He  paused:  yet  I  had  gathered  his  meaning. 
"  There  will  be  less  peril  for  the  ships  for  a  while," 
said  I. 

Said  he :    "  To  them  she  intends  no  harm.     It  is 

for  her  master  the  light  waves.     Paschal,  I  am  an 

unhappy  man !  "     lie  flung  a  hand  to  his  f ore- 

136 


THE    LADY    OF    TIII<]    SHIP 

head,  but  recovering  himself  peered  at  me  under 
the  shadow  of  it.  ''  If  you  could  watch — often — 
as  you  have  done  to-night — you  might  protect 
others  from  seeing " 

The  wisdom  of  this  at  least  I  saw,  and  gave  him 
my  promise  readily.  Upon  this  understanding 
(for  no  more  could  be  had)  I  withdrew. 

The  next  day,  therefore,  I  moved  my  bed  to  a 
turret-chamber  on  the  angle  of  the  south-eastern 
wall  whence  I  could  keep  my  lady's  window  in 
view.  I  was  never  a  man  to  need  much  sleep: 
but  if,  through  the  year  which  followed,  the  ap- 
parition escaped  once  or  twice  without  my  cog- 
nisance, I  dare  take  oath  this  was  the  extent  of 
it.  It  appeared  more  rarely,  as  my  Master  had 
promised:  and  in  the  end  (I  think)  scarce  above 
once  a  month.  In  fonn  it  never  varied  from  the 
cresseted  globe  of  flame  I  had  first  seen,  and  al- 
ways it  took  the  path  across  the  fields  towards 
Cuddan  Point.  No  sound  went  with  it,  or  an- 
nounced its  going  or  return:  and  while  it  was 
absent,  my  lady's  chamber  would  be  utterly  dark 
and  silent.  My  custom  was  not  to  follow  it  (which 
I  had  proved  to  be  useless),  but  to  let  myself  out 
and  patrol  tlie  walls,  satisfying  myself  that  no 
watchers  lurked   about   the  castle.      I  understood 

now  that  Pengersick  was  reported  throughout  the 

137 


THE   LADY    OF    THE    SHIP 

neigbbourliood  to  be  baiinted:  and  such  a  report 
is  not  tbe  worst  protection.  These  vague  tales  kept 
aloof  the  country  people  who,  but  for  them,  had 
almost  certainly  happened  on  the  secret.  And 
night  after  night  while  I  watched,  my  Master 
wrestled  with  the  Evil  One  in  his  room. 

The  last  time  I  saw  the  apparition  was  on  the 
night  of  May  10th,  1529,  more  than  three  years 
after  my  lady's  first  coming  to  Pengersick.  I  was 
prepared  for  it:  for  she  had  been  singing  at  her 
window  a  great  part  of  the  afternoon,  and  I  had 
learnt  to  be  warned  by  this  mood.  The  night  was 
a  dark  one,  with  flying  clouds  and  a  stiff  breeze 
blowing  up  from  the  south-east.  The  flame  left 
my  lady's  window  at  the  usual  hour — a  few  min- 
utes after  midnight — but  returned  some  while  be- 
fore its  usual  time.  In  ordinary  it  would  be  away 
for  an  liour  and  a  half,  or  from  that  to  two  hours, 
but  this  night  I  had  scarcely  begun  my  rounds 
before  I  saw  it  returning  across  the  fields.  iN'or 
was  this  the  only  surprise.  For  as  I  watched  it 
up  the  wall  and  saw  it  gain  my  lady's  window, 
I  heai'd  the  liound  within  lift  up  its  voice  in  a 
long  howl. 

I  lost  no  time,  but  made  my  way  to  my  Mas- 
ter's room.     He,  too,  had  heard  the  dog's  howl,  and 

was  strangely  perturbed.     "  It  means  something. 

138 


THE   LADY    OF   THE    SHIP 

It  means  something/'  he  kept  repeating.  lie  had 
ah-cadv  run  to  his  wife's  chamber,  but  found  her 
in  a  deep  shmiber  and  t\w  honnd  (which  always 
slept  on  the  floor  at  her  bed's  foot)  composing  it- 
self to  sleep  again,  with  jowl  dropped  on  its  fore- 
paws. 

The  next  morning  I  had  fixed  to  ride  into  the 
Market  Jew  to  fetch  a  packet  of  books  which  was 
waiting  there  for  mj  Master.  But  at  the  entrance 
of  the  town  I  found  the  people  in  gi-eat  commo- 
tion, the  cause  of  which  turned  out  to  be  a  group 
of  Turk  men  gathered  at  the  hither  end  of  the 
causeway  leading  to  the  Mount.  One  told  me  they 
were  Moslems  (which  indeed  was  apparent  at  first 
sight)  and  that  their  ship  had  run  ashore  that 
night,  under  the  Mount;  but  with  how  much 
damage  was  doubtful.  She  lay  within  sight,  in 
a  pretty  safe  position,  and  not  so  badly  fixed  but 
I  guessed  the  next  tide  would  float  her  if  her  bot- 
tom were  not  broken.  The  Moslems  (nine  in  all) 
had  rowed  ashore  in  their  boat  and  landed  on  the 
causeway;  but  with  what  purpose  they  had  no 
chance  to  explain:  for  tlu^  inliabitants,  catching 
sight  of  their  kuive?  and  scymeters,  could  believe 
in  nothing  short  of  an  intent  to  murder  and  plun- 
der, and  taking  courage  in  numbers,  had  gathered 

(men  and  women)  to  the  causeway-head  to  oppose 

139 


THE    LADY    OF    THE    SHIP 

tliem.  To  be  sure  these  fears  liad  some  warrant 
in  tlic  foreigners'  appearance:  who  with  their  tur- 
bans, tunics,  dark  faces  and  black  naked  legs  made 
up  a  show  which  Market  Jew  had  never  known 
before  nor  (I  dare  say)  will  again. 

Nor  had  the  mildness  of  their  address  any  effect 
but  to  raise  a  fresh  commotion.  For,  their  leader 
advancing  with  outstretched  hands  and  making 
signals  that  he  intended  no  mischief  but  rather 
sued  for  assistance,  at  once  a  cry  went  up,  "  The 
Plague!  "  "  The  Plague!  "  at  which  I  believe  the 
crowd  would  have  scattered  like  sheep  had  not  a 
few  sturdy  volunteers  with  pikes  and  boathooks 
forbidden  his  nearer  approach. 

Into  this  knot  the  conference  had  locked  itself 

when  I  rode  u])  and — the  crowd  making  way  for 

me — addressed  the  strangers  in  the  lingua  Franca, 

explaining  that  my  Master  of  Pengersick  was  a 

magistrate   and   would   be  forward  to   help   them 

either  with  hospitality   or  in   lending  aid   to  get 

their  ship  afloat;    further  that  they  need  have  no 

apprehension   of   the   crowd,    which   had    opposed 

them  in  fear,  not  in  churlishness;    yet  it  might  be 

wise  for  the  main  body  to  stay  and  keep  guard 

over  the  cargo  while  their  spokesman  went  with 

me  to  Pengersick. 

To  this  their  leader  at  once  consented;    and  we 

140 


THE   LADY   OF   THE   SHIP 

presently  set  forth  together,  he  walking  by  my 
horse  with  an  agile  step  and  that  graceful  bearing 
which  I  had  not  seen  since  my  days  of  travel:  a 
bearded  swarthy  man,  extraordinarily  handsome  in 
Moorish  fashion  and  distinguished  from  his  crew 
not  only  by  authority  as  patron  of  the  ship,  but 
by  a  natural  dignity.  I  judged  him  about  forty. 
Me  he  treated  with  courtesy,  yet  with  a  reticence 
which  seemed  to  say  he  resented  his  speech  for  my 
Master.  Of  the  wreck  he  said  nothing  except  that 
his  ship  had  been  by  many  degrees  out  of  her  bear- 
ings: and  knowing  that  the  Moorish  disasters  in 
Spain  had  thrown  many  of  their  chiefs  into  the 
trade  of  piracy  I  was  contented  to  smoke  such  an 
adventurer  in  this  man,  and  set  him  down  for  one 
better  at  fighting  than  at  navigation. 

With  no  more  suspicion  than  this  I  reached 
Pengersick  and,  bestowing  the  stranger  in  the  hall, 
went  off  to  seek  my  Master.  Eor  the  change  that 
came  over  my  dear  lord's  face  as  he  heard  my 
errand  I  was  in  no  way  prepared.     It  was  terrible. 

"  Paschal,"  he  cried,  sinking  into  a  chair  and 
spreading  both  hands  helplessly  on  the  table  be- 
fore him,  "  it  is  he!    Her  time  is  come,  and  mine!  " 

It  was  in  vain  that  I  reasoned,  protesting  (as  I 

believed)  that  the  stranger  was  but  a  chance  pirate 

cast  ashore  by  misadventure;   and  as  vain  that,  his 

141 


THE    LADY    OF   THE    SHIP 

fears  infecting  me,  I  promised  to  go  down  and  get 
rid  of  the  fellow  on  some  pretence. 

"  No,"  he  insisted,  "  the  hour  is  come.  I  must 
face  it:  and  what  is  more.  Paschal,  I  shall  win. 
Another  time  I  shall  be  no  better  prepared.  Bring 
him  to  my  room  and  then  go  and  tell  my  lady 
that  I  ^vish  to  speak  with  her." 

I  did  so.  On  ushering  in  the  stranger  I  saw 
no  more  than  the  bow  with  which  the  two  men 
faced  each  other:  for  at  once  my  Master  signalled 
me  to  run  on  my  further  errand.  Having  deliv- 
ered my  message  at  my  lady's  door,  I  went  do^vn 
to  the  hall,  and  lingering  there,  saw  her  pass  along 
the  high  gallery,  above  the  dais  towards  my  lord's 
room,  with  the  hound  at  her  heels. 

Thence  I  climbed  the  stair  to  my  own  room: 
locked  the  door  and  anon  unlocked  it,  to  be  ready 
at  sudden  need.  And  there  I  paced  hour  after 
hour,  without  food,  listening.  Erom  the  court- 
yard came  the  noise  of  the  grooms  chattering  and 
splashing:  but  from  the  left  wing,  where  lay  my 
Master's  rooms,  no  sound  at  all.  Twice  I  stole 
out  along  the  corridors  and  hung  about  the  stair 
head:  but  could  hear  nothing,  and  crept  back  in 
fear  to  be  caught  eavesdropping. 

It  was  about  five  in  the  afternoon  (I  think),  all 

was  still  in  the  courtyard,  when  I  heard  the  click 

142 


THE   LADY    OF   THE   SHIP 

of  a  latcli  and,  running  to  the  window,  saw  the 
porter  closing  his  mcket  gate.  A  minute  later, 
on  a  rise  beyond  the  wall,  I  spied  the  Moor.  His 
back  was  towards  the  castle  and  he  was  walking 
rapidly  towards  Market  Jew:  and  after  him  pad- 
ded my  lady's  hound. 

I  hurried  along  the  passages  and  knocked  at  my 
Master's  door.  !No  one  answered.  I  could  not 
wait  to  knock  again,  but  burst  it  open. 

»  *  *  *  * 

On  the  floor  at  my  feet  lay  my  Master,  and  hard 
by  the  window  my  Mistress  with  her  hands  crossed 
upon  a  crucifix.  My  Master  had  no  crucifix:  but 
his  face  wore  a  smile — a  happier  one  than  it  had 
worn  for  years. 


143 


VI 
FROZEN    MARGIT 

A  Narrative  of  the  sufferings  of  Mr.  Obed  Lanyon^  of  Vel- 
lingey- Saint  Agnes,  Cornwall;  Margit  Lanyon,  his  wife ; 
and  seventeen  persons  (mostly  Americans)  shipwrecked 
among  the  Quinaiult  Tribes  of  the  W.  W.  Coast  of  Amer- 
ica, m  the  winter  of  1807-8.  With  some  remarkable 
Experiences  of  the  said  Margit  Lanyon,  formerly  Peder- 
sen.  Written  by  the  Survivor,  Edom  Lanyon,  sometime 
a  Commander  in  the  service  of  the  Honourable  East 
India  Company. 

My  twin  brother  Obed  and  I  were  born  on  the 

21st  of  March,  1759  (he  being  the  elder  by  a  few 

minutes),  at  Vellingej-Saint  Agnes,  or  Saint  Ann's, 

a  farm  on  the  north  coast  of  Cornwall,  owned  and 

cultivated  by  our  father  Renatus  Lanyon.     Our 

mother  was  a   Falmouth   woman,   daughter   of  a 

ship's  captain  of  that  port:    and  I  suppose  it  was 

this  inclined  us  to  a  sea-faring  life.     At  any  rate, 

soon  after  our  fifteenth  birthday  we  sailed  (rather 

against  our  father's  wish)  on  a  short  coasting  voy- 

144 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

age  with  our  grandfather — whose  name  was  Will- 
iam Dustow. 

A  second  voyage  in  the  early  summer  of  1776 
took  us  as  far  as  the  Thames.  It  happened  that 
the  famous  Captain  Cook  was  just  then  recruiting 
for  his  third  and  (as  it  proved)  his  last  voyage  of 
discovery.  This  set  us  talking  and  planning,  and 
the  end  w^as  that  we  stole  ashore  and  offered  our- 
selves. Obed  had  the  luck  to  be  picked.  Though 
very  like  in  face,  I  was  already  the  taller  by  two 
inches;  and  no  doubt  the  Captain  judged  I  had 
outgrown  my  strength.  But  it  surprised  me  to  be 
rejected  when  Obed  was  taken;  and  disappointed 
me  more:  for,  letting  alone  the  prospect  of  the 
voyage,  we  two  (as  twins,  and  our  parents'  only  chil- 
dren) were  fond  of  each  other  out  of  the  common 
degree,  and  had  never  thought  to  be  separated. 

To  speak  first  of  Obed: — Captain  Cook  put 
some  questions,  and  finding  that  we  were  under 
our  grandfather's  care,  would  do  nothing  without 
his  consent.  AVe  returned  to  the  ship  and  con- 
fessed to  the  old  man,  who  pretended  to  be  much 
annoyed.  But  next  day  he  put  on  his  best  clothes 
and  went  in  search  of  the  great  seaman,  to  AVhite- 
hall;  and  so  the  matter  was  arranged.  Obed 
sailed  in  July  on  board  the  Discovery;  shared  the 

dangers  of  that  voyage,  in   which  the  ships  fol- 

145 


FKOZEN    MAKGIT 

lowed  up  the  jST.W.  Coast  of  America  and  pushed 
into  Bering's  Strait  beyond  the  70th  parallel; 
was  a  witness,  on  February  4th,  1779,  of  his  com- 
mander's tragical  end;  and  returned  to  England 
in  October,  1780.  Eleven  years  later  he  made 
another  voyage  to  the  same  N.W.  American  Coast; 
this  time  as  master's  mate  under  Vancouver,  who 
had  kept  an  interest  in  him  since  they  sailed  to- 
gether under  Cook,  and  thought  highly  of  him  as 
a  practical  navigator  and  draughtsman.  It  was 
my  brother  who,  under  Vancouver,  drew  up  the 
first  chart  of  the  Straits  of  Fuca,  which  Cook  had 

missed:  and  I  have  been  told  (by  a  Mr.  G , 

a  clerk  to  tlie  Admiralty)  that  on  his  return  he 
stood  well  for  a  lieutenant's  commission — the  rule 
of  the  Service  being  stretched  now  and  then  to 
favour  these  circumnavigating  seamen,  many  of 
whom  worked  their  way  aft  from  the  hawse-hole 
to  the  quarter  deck.  But  my  father  and  mother 
dying  just  then,  and  the  former  having  slipped  a 
particular  request  into  his  will,  Obed  threw  up  the 
sea  and  settled  down  in  Vellingey  as  a  quiet  yeo- 
man farmer. 

Meanwhile,  in  1779,  I  had  entered  the  sea  ser- 
vice of  the  Honourable  East  India  Company;  and 
with  passable  good  fortune  had  risen  in  it  pretty 

fast.     Enough  to  say,  that  by  the  spring  of  1796 

146 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

I  was  looking  fonvard  to  the  command  of  a  ship. 
Just  then  my  fortune  deserted  me.  In  a  sudden 
fear  of  French  invasion,  our  Government  bought 
the  four  new  ships  which  the  Company  had  build- 
ing (and  a  bad  bargain  they  proved).  This  put  a 
stop  for  the  time  to  aU  chance  of  promotion;  and  a 
sharp  attack  of  jaundice  falling  on  top  of  my  dis- 
appointments, I  took  the  usual  decrease  of  pay  and 
the  Board's  promise  jto  remember  my  services  on  a 
proper  occasion,  and  hauled  ashore  to  Yellingey 
for  a  holiday  and  a  thorough  refit  of  health. 

I  believe  that  the  eight  or  nine  following 
months  which  Obed  and  I  spent  together  were  the 
happiest  in  our  two  lives.  He  was  glad  enough 
to  shoulder  off  the  small  business  of  the  farm  and 
turn — as  I  have  seen  so  many  men  play,  in  a  man- 
ner, at  the  professions  they  have  given  over — to 
his  favourite  amusement  of  sounding  the  coast  of 
Vellingey  and  correcting  the  printed  charts.  He 
kept  a  small  lugger  mainly  for  this  purpose,  and 
plied  her  so  briskly  that  he  promised  to  know  the 
sea-bottom  between  Kelsey  Head  and  Godrevy 
Rock  better  than  his  own  fields.  As  for  me,  after 
years  of  salt  water  and  stumping  decks,  I  asked 
nothing  better  than  to  steer  a  plough  and  smell 
broken  soil,  and  drowse  after  supper  in  an  arm- 
chair, with  good  tobacco  and  Obed  for  company. 

147 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

In  this  way  we  passed  the  winter  of  1796-7; 
nntil  the  lambing  season,  which  fell  midway  in 
February,  The  year  opened  wet,  with  fresh  south- 
westerly winds,  which  in  the  second  week  chopped 
suddenly;  and  for  four  days  a  continuous  freezing 
gale  blew  on  us  from  the  'N.W.  It  was  then  that 
the  lambs  began  to  drop;  and  for  three  nights  I 
exchanged  pipe  and  fireside  for  a  lantern  and  the 
lower  corner  of  Friar's  Pare  at  the  back  of  the 
towans,  where  the  ewes  were  gathered  in  the  lew*. 
They  kept  us  so  busy  that  for  forty-eight  hours 
we  neither  changed  our  clothes  (at  least,  I  did  not) 
nor  sat  down  to  a  meal.  The  sand  about  Vellingey 
is  always  driving,  more  or  less;  and  the  gale  so 
mixed  it  up  with  fine  snow  that  we  made  our  jour- 
neys to  and  from  the  house,  so  to  speak,  blind- 
fold, and  took  our  chance  of  tlie  drifts.  But  the 
evening  of  the  11th  promised  better.  The  wind 
dropped,  and  in  an  hour  fell  to  a  flat  calm:  then, 
after  another  hour,  began  to  draw  easily  off  shore 
— the  draught  itself  being  less  noticeable  than 
the  way  in  which  it  smoothed  down  the  heavy  sea 
running.  Though  the  cold  did  not  lift,  the 
weather  grew  tolerable  once  more:  and  each  time 
I  crossed  the  townplacef  with  a  lamb  in  my  arms, 

*  Shelter  from  the  wind. 
t  Farmyard. 
148 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

I  beard  the  surf  running  lower  and  lower  in  the 
porth  below  Vellingcy. 

By  day-break  (the  12th)  it  was  fallen  to  nothing: 
the  sky  still  holding  snow,  but  sky  and  sea  the 
same  colour;  a  heavy  blueish  grey,  like  steel.  I 
was  coming  over  the  towans,  just  then,  with  a 
lamb  under  either  arm  (making  twelve,  that  night) 
when  I  happened  to  look  seaward,  and  there  saw 
a  boat  tossing,  about  a  gunshot  from  the  shore. 

She  was  a  long  boat,  painted  white;  very  low 
in  the  sheer,  and  curved  at  stem  and  stem  like 
a  Norwegian;  her  stern  rounded  off  without  a 
transom,  and  scarcely  bluffer  than  her  bows.  She 
carried  a  mast,  stepped  right  forward;  but  no  sail. 
She  was  full  of  people,  I  counted  five  sitting, 
all  white  with  snow — one  by  the  mast,  three 
amidships,  and  one  in  the  stern  sheets,  steering. 
At  least,  he  had  a  hand  on  the  tiller:  but  the 
people  had  given  over  pulling,  and  the  boat  with- 
out steerage-way  was  drifting  broadside  on  towards 
the  shore  with  the  set  of  the  tide. 

While   I  stood  conning  her,   up   at   the   house 

the    back-door   opened,    and    niv    brother    stepped 

out  and  across  the  yard  to  milk  the  cows.     His 

milk-pails     struck     against     the     door-post,     and 

sounded  as  clear  as  bells.     I  shouted  to  him  and 

pointed   towards   the   boat:     and   after   looking   a 

149 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

moment,  he  set  down  his  pails  and  started  off  at 
a  run,  down  towards  the  porth.  I  then  hurried 
towards  the  house,  where  I  found  Selina,  our  old 
housekeeper,  in  the  kitchen,  tending  the  lambs 
with  warm  milk.  Handing  the  new-comers  over 
to  her,  I  caught  up  a  line  and  made  off  hot-foot 
after  Obed. 

At  low-water  (and  the  tide  had  now  scarcely 
an  hour  to  ebb)  the  sands  in  Vellingey  Forth 
measure  a  good  half-mile  from  the  footbridge  at 
its  head  to  the  sea  at  its  base.  My  legs  were 
longer  than  Obed's;  but  I  dare  say  he  had  ar- 
rived five  minutes  ahead  of  me.  He  was  stand- 
ing and  calling  to  the  boat's  crew  to  get  out  an 
oar  and  pull  her  head-to-sea:  for  although  the 
smoothing  wind  had  taken  most  of  the  danger 
out  of  the  breakers,  they  were  quite  able  to  cap- 
size and  roll  over  any  boat  that  beached  herself 
in  that  lubberly  fashion. 

I  ran  up  panting,  and  shouted  with  him — 
"  Pull  her  round  head-to-sea,  and  back  her  in !  " 

Not  a  man  moved  or  lifted  a  hand.     The  next 

moment,   a   wave   tilted   and   ran   a   dozen  yards 

with  her,  but  mercifully  passed  before  it  broke. 

A  smaller  one  curved   on  the   back-draught  and 

splashed  in  over  her  gunwale  as  she  took  ground. 

But  what  knocked  the  wind  out  of  our  sails  was 

150 


FROZEN    M  AUG  IT 

this — As  the  first  wave  canted  her  up,  two  men 
had  rolled  out  of  her  like  log's;  and  the  others, 
sitting  like  logs,  had  never  so  much  as  stirred  to 
help! 

"  Good  Lord !  "  I  called  out,  and  fumbled  with 
my  line.     "  What's  the  meaning  of  it?  " 

"  The  meaning  is,"  said  Obed,  "  they're  dead 
men,  every  mother's  son.  They're  frozen,"  said 
he:    "I've  seen  frozen  seamen  before  now." 

"  I'll  have  in  the  boat,  anyway,"  I  said. 
"  Here,  catch  hold  and  i^ay  out !  "  Running  in, 
I  reached  her  just  as  she  lifted  again;  and  man- 
aged to  slew  her  nose  in-shore,  but  not  in  time 
to  prevent  half-a-hogshead  of  water  pouring  over 
her  quarter.  This  wave  knocked  her  broadside-on 
again,  and  the  water  shipped  made  her  heavier 
to  handle.  But  by  whipping  my  end  of  the  line 
round  the  thwart  in  which  her  mast  was  stepped, 
for  Obed  to  haul  upon  and  myself  heaving  at  her 
bows  we  fetched  her  partly  round  as  she  lifted 
again  and  ran  her  into  the  second  line  of  breakers, 
which  were  pretty  well  harmless. 

"  How  many  on  board  ? "  Obed  sang  out. 

"Five!"  called  I,  having  counted  them.     Up 

to  this  I  had  had  enough  to  do  witli  the  boat; 

besides  looking  after  myself.     For  twice  the  heave 

had  tilled  me  up  to  the  armpits,  and  once  lifted 

151 


FKOZEN    MAEGIT 

me  clean  off  my  feet;  and  I  had  no  wish  to  try 
swimming  in  my  sea-boots.  "  Five/'  said  I:  "  and 
two  overboard — that  makes  seven.  Come  and 
look  here!  " 

"  Tend  to  the  boat  first,"  he  said.  "  I've  seen 
frozen  seamen." 

"  You  never  saw  the  likes  of  this,"  I  answered. 
So  he  ran  in  beside  me. 

The  boat  had  her  name  (or  that  of  the  ship 
she  belonged  to)  painted  in  yellow  and  black  on 
the  gunwale  strake  by  her  port  quarter — "  Margit 
Pedeesen,  Bergen  "  :  but  by  their  faces  we  could 
not  miss  knowing  to  what  country  the  poor 
creatures  belonged.     They  were — 

1.  A  tall  man,  under  middle  age ;  seated  by  the  mast 
and  leaning  against  it  (his  right  arm  frozen  to  it,  in 
fact,  from  the  elbow  up)  with  his  back  towards  the  bows. 
The  snow  was  heaped  on  his  head  and  shoulders  like  a 
double  cape.  This  one  had  no  hair  on  his  face  ;  and 
his  complexion  being  very  fresh  and  pink,  and  his  eyes 
wide  open,  it  was  hard  to  believe  him  dead.  Indeed, 
while  getting  in  the  boat,  I  had  to  speak  to  him  twice, 
to  make  sure. 

2.  A  much  older  man,  and  shorter,  with  a  rough  grey 
beard.  He  sat  in  the  stern  sheets,  with  his  right  hand 
frozen  on  the  tiller.  Our  folk  had  afterwards  to  unship 
the  tiller  when  they  came  to  lift  him  out :  and  carried 
him  up  to  the  house  still  holding  it.  Later  on,  we 
buried  it  beside  him .     This  man  wore  a  good  blue  coat 

152 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

and  black  breeches  ;  and  at  first  we  took  him  to  be  the 
captain.  He  turned  out  to  be  the  mate,  Knud  Lote, 
who  had  put  on  his  best  clothes  when  it  came  to  leaving 
the  ship.  His  eyes  were  screwed  up,  and  the  brine  had 
frozen  over  them,  like  a  glaze,  or  a  big  i)air  of  spectacles. 

3.  Against  his  knee  rested  the  head  of  a  third  man- 
one  of  the  three  I  had  first  seen  sitting  amidships. 
When  the  other  two  toppled  overboard  this  one  had  slid 
off  the  thwart  and  fallen  against  the  steersman.  He 
was  an  oldish  man,  yellow  and  thin  and  marked  with 
the  small-pox  ;  the  only  one  in  the  boat  who  might 
have  come  from  some  other  country  than  Norway.  His 
eyes  were  cast  down  in  a  quiet  way,  and  he  seemed  to 
be  smiling.  He  wore  a  seaman's  loose  frock,  ragged 
breeches,  and  sea-boots. 

4  and  5.  Stretched  along  the  bottom-boards  lay  a  tall 
young  man  with  straw-coloured  hair  and  beard  :  and  in 
his  arms,  tightly  clasped,  and  wrapped  in  a  shawl  and 
seaman's  jacket,  a  young  woman.  Her  arms  were  about 
the  young  man  and  her  face  pressed  close  and  hidden 
against  his  side.  He  must  have  taken  off  his  jacket  to 
warm  her  ;  for  the  upper  part  of  his  body  had  no  cover- 
ing but  a  flannel  shirt  and  cinglet. 

While  wc  stood  there  the  tide  drained  back, 
leaving  the  bows  of  the  boat  high  and  dry.  As 
I  remember,  Obed  was  the  first  to  speak;  and  he 
said  "  She  has  beautiful  hair."  This  was  the  bare 
truth:  a  great  lock  of  it  lay  along  the  bottom- 
board  like  a  stream  of  guineas  poured  out  of  a 
sack.     He  climbed  into  the  boat  and  lifted  the 

shawl  from  her  face. 

153 


FEOZEN    MARGIT 

Those  neighbours  of  ours,  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances, who  afterwards  saw  Margit  Pedersen  at 
Velhngey,  and  for  whom  this  account  is  mainly 
written,  will  not  need  a  description  of  her.  Many 
disliked  her:  but  nobody  denied  that  she  was  a 
lovely  woman;  and  I  am  certain  that  nobody 
could  see  her  face  and  afterwards  forget  it.  It 
was,  then  and  always,  very  pale:  but  this  had 
nothing  to  do  with  ill  health.  In  fact  I  am  not 
sure  it  would  have  been  noticeable  but  for  the 
warm  colour  of  her  hair  and  her  red  lips  and 
(especially)  her  eyebrows  and  lashes,  of  a  deep 
brown  that  seemed  almost  black.  Her  lips  were 
blue  with  the  cold,  just  now:  but  the  contrast  be- 
tween her  eyebrows  and  her  pale  face  and  yellow 
hair  struck  me  at  once  and  kept  me  wondering: 
until  Obed  startled  me  by  dropping  the  shawl  and 
falling  on  his  knees  beside  her.  "  Good  God, 
Dom  !  "  he  sang  out:    "  the  girl's  alive  !  " 

The  next  moment,  of  course,  I  was  as  wild  as 
he.  "  Get  her  out,  then,"  I  cried,  "  and  up  to 
the  house  at  once." 

"  I  can't  loosen  the  man's  arms  !  "  Though 
less  than  a  yard  apart,  we  both  shouted  at  the 
top  of  our  voices. 

"  Nonsense  !  "  I  answered :    but  it  was  true  all 

the  same — as  I  found  out  when  I  stepped  in  to 

154 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

Obed's  help.  "  Wc  must  carry  up  the  pair  as  they 
arc,"  I  said.     "  There's  no  time  to  lose." 

We  lifted  them  out,  and  makino-  a  chair  of  our 
hands  and  wrists,  carried  tliem  up  to  Vellingey; 
leaving  the  others  in  the  boat,  now  for  an  hour 
well  above  reach  of  the  tide.  And  here  I  must 
tell  of  something  that  happened  on  the  way:  the 
first  sign  of  Obed's  madness,  as  I  may  call  it.  All 
of  a  sudden  he  stopped  and  panted,  from  the 
weight  of  our  load,  I  supposed.  "  Dom,"  he  said, 
"  I  believe  that  nine  men  out  of  ten  would  kiss 
her  !  " 

I  told  him  not  to  be  a  fool,  and  we  walked  on. 
In  the  town-place  we  happened  on  the  shepherd, 
Keubcn  Santo,  and  sent  him  off  for  help,  and  to 
look  after  the  frozen  people  in  the  boat.  The  sight 
of  us  at  the  door  nearly  scared  Selina  into  her 
grave:  l)ut  wo  allowed  her  no  time  for  hysterics. 
We  laid  the  pair  on  a  blanket  before  the  open  fire, 
and  very  soon  Obed  was  trying  to  force  some  warm 
milk  and  brandy  between  the  girl's  lips.  I  tliink 
she  swallowed  a  little :  but  the  first  time  she  opened 
her  eyes  was  when  one  of  the  lambs  (which  every- 
one had  neglected  for  twenty  minutes  or  so)  tot- 
tered across  tlic  kitchen  on  his  foolish  legs  and 
began  to  nuzzle  at  her  face.  Obed  at  the  mo- 
ment was  trying  to  disengage  the  dead  man's  arms. 

155 


FEOZEN    MARGIT 

A  thought  struck  Sclina  at  once.  "  Put  the  lamb 
close  against  her  heart,"  she  said.  "  That'll  warm 
her  more  than  any  fire." 

So  we  did,  making  the  lamb  lie  down  close 
beside  her;  and  it  had  a  wonderful  effect.  In  less 
than  half-an-hour  her  pulse  grew  moderately  firm 
and  she  had  even  contrived  to  speak  a  word  or  two, 
but  in  I^orwegian,  wdiicli  none  of  us  understood. 
Obed  by  this  time  had  loosened  the  dead  man's 
arms;  and  we  thought  it  best  to  get  her  upstairs 
to  bed  before  the  full  sense  of  her  misfortune 
should  afiiict  her.  Obed  carried  her  up  to  the 
spare-room  and  there  left  her  to  Selina;  while  I 
saddled  horse  and  rode  in  to  Truro,  for  Doctor 
Mitchell. 

Much  of  what  followed  is  matter  of  public 
knowledge.  Our  folks  carried  the  dead  Norwe- 
gians up  to  Church-town,  including  one  of  the  two 
that  had  fallen  overboard  (the  next  tide  washed 
him  in:  the  other  never  came  to  land);  and  there 
buried  them,  two  days  later,  in  separate  graves, 
but  all  close  together.  The  boat  being  worthless, 
we  sawed  it  in  two  just  abaft  the  mast  and  set 
the  fore-part  over  the  centre  grave,  which  was 
that  of  Captain  Pcdersen,  the  young  man  we  had 
carried  up  with  Margit.     The  mast  rotted  and  fell, 

some  years  ago,  although  carefully  stayed:   but  the 

156 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

boat,  with  the  names  painted  on  it,  remains  to  this 
day.  Also  we  set  up  a  small  wooden  cross  by  each 
man's  grave,  with  his  name  upon  it.  Margit  was 
able,  from  our  description,  to  plan  out  the  right 
name  for  each. 

On  the  third  day  an  interpreter  came  over  from 
Penzance.  Margit  could  not  yet  leave  her  bed: 
and  before  he  stepped  up  to  (juestion  her,  I  took 
him  aside  and  showed  a  small  Norwegian  Bible  we 
had  found  in  the  pocket  of  the  seaman's  jacket  to 
which  she  owed  her  life.  On  the  fii'st  page  was 
some  foreign  writing  which  I  could  not  make  out. 
The  interpreter  translated  it:  first  the  names 
"  Margit  Hansen  to  Nils  Pedersen  "  :  and  after 
them,  this  strange  verse  from  the  Song  of  Sol- 
omon— strange,  I  mean,  to  find  "vvi'itten  in  such  a 
place — "  Let  him  kiss  me  with  the  kisses  of  his 
mouth:    for  thy  love  is  better  than  wine." 

The  inteq)reter,  Mr.  Scaimnel,  went  upstairs, 
and  she  told  him  her  story.  "  Our  vessel,"  she 
said  (I  give  it  in  brief),  "  was  the  Margit  Peder- 
sen, brig.  She  belonged  to  me  and  was  called 
after  me.  We  were  bound  for  the  Tagus  with  a 
cargo  of  salted  fish  which  I  had  bought  at  Bergen 
from  the  Lofodcn  smacks — fish  for  the  Roman 
Catholics  to  cat  in  Lent.  Nils  Pedersen,  the  cap- 
tain, was  my  husband:    Knud  Lote  was  mate." 

157 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

Mr.  Scammel  having  expressed  some  surprise  that 
so  young  a  man  should  have  been  captain,  she  ex- 
plained, "  He  was  twenty-two.  I  made  him  cap- 
tain. My  father  and  mother  died:  they  had  not 
wished  me  to  marry  him.  They  were  proud.  But 
they  left  very  little  money,  considering;  and  with 
it  I  bought  the  brig  and  cargo.  She  was  an  old 
craft,  half  rotten.  We  had  fair  weather,  mostly, 
down  the  English  Channel  and  almost  to  Ushant. 
There  we  met  a  strong  southerly  gale,  and  in  the 
middle  of  it  a  pintle  of  our  rudder  gave  way  and 
the  loose  rudder  damaged  our  stern-post.  We  tried 
to  bear  up  for  Falmouth,  but  she  would  not  steer; 
and  we  drove  up  towards  the  Irish  Coast,  just 
missing  Scilly.  On  the  8tli  the  wind  changed  to 
N.W.  and  increased.  That  night,  as  Nils  tried  to 
lay  to,  she  earned  away  her  fore-mast,  which  had 
been  shaky  for  days.  She  was  now  leaking  fast. 
At  noon  on  the  9th  we  managed  to  launch  a  boat, 
and  abandoned  her.  She  sank  at  four  o'clock: 
we  saw  her  go  down.  The  weather  grew  colder, 
that  night.  I  think  it  snowed  all  the  time:  and 
the  seas  were  too  heavy  to  let  the  boat  run.  The 
men  pulled  to  keep  her  nose  to  them  and  the  wind, 
and  so  she  drifted.  I  forget  when  they  gave  over 
pulling.     For  a  night  and  a  day  I  baled  steadily. 

After  that  I  lay  most  of  the  time  in  the  bottom  of 

158 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

the  boat.  Our  food  was  almost  done.  It  was 
verv  cold.     That  is  all  I  can  remember." 

And  this,  I  think,  was  all  we  ever  heard  from 
her.  On  his  return  to  Penzance,  Mr.  Scammel 
sent  me  a  Norwegian  dictionary;  and  with  the  help 
of  it  Obed  and  I  soon  managed  to  talk  a  little  with 
her,  in  a  mixture  of  Norwegian  and  English.  But 
she  never  wanted  to  speak  of  the  past,  and  fell 
silent  whenever  we  spoke  of  it.  What  astonished 
me  more  was  that,  though  she  told  us  the  names 
of  the  dead  men,  she  showed  no  further  interest 
in  them.  At  first,  knowing  how  weak  she  was, 
and  fearing  to  distress  her,  I  fought  shy  of  the 
subject;  but  one  day,  towards  the  end  of  the  third 
week — she  being  strong  enough  to  walk  a  moder- 
ate distance — I  plucked  up  courage  and  asked  if 
she  cared  to  come  with  me  to  the  churchyard.  She 
agreed,  and  that  afternoon,  after  a  heavy  shower, 
we  walked  there  together.  I  feared  what  effect 
the  first  sight  of  her  husband's  grave  might  work 
on  her  feelings;  and  all  the  way  kept  wishing  that 
we  had  omitted  to  set  up  the  boat  and  mast.  But 
she  looked  at  them  calmly,  and  at  the  graves. 
"That  is  good,"  she  said:  "you  have  done  great 
kindness  to  them.  T  will  not  come  any  more." 
And  so  she  prepared  to  walk  away. 

I  own  that  this  seemed  to  me  imfeeling.     Out- 

159 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

side  the  churchyard  I  pulled  from  my  pocket  the 
small  Bible.  "This  belongs  to  you/'  I  said:  "I 
have  kept  it  to  help  me  with  your  language  " — but 
I  held  it  open  at  the  fly-leaf.  She  glanced  at  it. 
"  Oh  yes,  I  gave  it  to  Nils,  my  husband.  You 
wish  to  keep  it  ?  "  "  You  were  very  fond  of  him, 
to  judge  from  this,"  I  said;  and  halted,  expecting 
her  to  be  angry.  But  she  halted  too,  and  said 
quite  coolly — looking  at  me  straight — "  Yes  ? 
Oh  yes;  very  much." 

That  same  evening  I  spoke  to  Obed  as  we  sat 
alone  wdth  our  pipes.  "  I  suppose,"  said  I  as 
carelessly  as  I  could,  "  Margit  Pedersen  will  be 
leaving  us  before  long."  He  looked  up  sharply, 
and  began  to  shift  the  logs  on  the  hearth.  "  What 
makes  you  say  so  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Well,  she  will 
have  friends  in  Bergen,  and  business — "  "  Has 
she  written  to  her  friends  ? "  he  interrupted. 
"  Not  to  my  knowledge :  but  she  won't  be  staying 
here  for  ever,  I  suppose."  "  When  she  chooses  to 
go,  she  can.  Are  you  proposing  to  turn  her  out  ? 
If  so,  I'd  have  you  to  mind  that  Vellingey  is  my 
house,  and  I  am  master  here." 

This  was  an  unworthy  thing  to  say,  and  he  said 
it  with  a  fury  that  surprised  me.  Obed  and  I  had 
not  quarrelled  since  we  were  boys.  I  put  a  stop- 
per on  my  tongue,   and  went  on  smoking:     and 

160 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

after  a  wliile  he  began  to  talk  again  in  his  natural 
way  on  ordinary  matters. 

Margit  stayed  on;  and  to  all  appearance  our  life 
at  Vellingey  fell  back  into  its  old  groove.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  there  was  all  the  difference  in  the 
world — a  difference  felt  before  it  was  seen,  and  not 
to  be  summed  up  by  saying  that  a  woman  sat  at 
our  table.  I  believe  I  may  quite  fairly  lay  the 
blame  on  Obed.  For  the  first  time  in  our  lives 
he  kept  a  part  of  his  mind  hidden  from  me;  he 
made  show  enough  of  frankness  in  his  talk,  but  I 
knew  him  far  too  well  to  miss  the  suspicion  be- 
hind it.  And  his  suspicion  bred  suspicion  in  me. 
Yet  though  I  searched,  I  could  find  nothing  amiss 
in  his  outward  bearing.  If  he  were  indeed  in  love 
with  the  girl — her  age,  she  told  us,  was  twenty- 
one — he  gave  no  sign  upon  which  one  could  lay 
hold.  And  certainly  Margit's  bearing  towards  us 
was  cool  and  friendly  and  impartial  as  the  strictest 
could  desire.  Of  the  two,  I  had,  perhaps,  more 
of  her  company,  simply  because  Obed  spent  most 
of  his  time  in  the  lugger,  while  I  worked  in  the 
fields  and  within  easy  reach  of  an  afternoon's 
stroll.  Margit  would  be  busy  with  housework 
most  of  the  morning,  or  in  the  kitchen,  helping 
Selina — "  domineering,"  Selina  prefeiTed  to  call  it. 

For,  whatever  our  feelings,  Selina  had  set  her 

161 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

face  against  the  new-comer  from  tlie  first.  She 
started,  no  doubt,  with  the  old  woman's  whiddle 
that  no  good  ever  comes  of  a  person  saved  from 
the  sea.  But  as  time  went  on  she  picked  up 
plenty  of  other  reasons  for  dislike.  Margit  took 
charge  from  the  day  she  came  downstairs,  and  had 
a  cold  way  of  seeing  that  her  orders  were  attended 
to.  With  about  twenty  words  of  English  she  at 
once  gave  battle  to  Selina,  who  had  bullied  us  two 
men  from  cliildhood;  and  routed  her.  The  old 
woman  kept  up  a  running  fight  for  a  week  before 
appealing  to  Obed,  and  this  delay  cost  her  every- 
thing. Obed  flew  in  a  rage  that  more  than 
equalled  her  own,  and  had  the  advantage  to  be 
unusual  and  quite  unexpected  by  her.  She  ran 
from  him  to  the  kitchen,  in  tears;  and  thence- 
forth was  a  beaten  woman,  however  much  she 
might  grumble  at  the  "  foreigner "  and  "  inter- 
loper." 

For  me,  I  will  confess  and  have  done  with  it, 
that  before  a  month  was  out  my  interest  in  this 
pale  foreign  woman,  who  moved  about  the  house 
so  quietly  and  surely,  had  grown  to  a  degree  that 
troubled  me.  That  Obed  had  suspected  me  be- 
fore he  had  any  cause  made  it  no  easier  now  to 
play  a  concealed  game  at  cross-purposes;  and  no 

pleasanter.     In  the  two  months  that  followed  I 

162 


FEOZEN    MAKGIT 

hated  myself  pretty  often,  and  at  times  came  near 
to  despise  myself  for  the  thought  that  before  long 
I  might  be  hating  Obcd.  This  would  never  have 
done:  and  luckily  I  saw  it  in  time.  Towards  the 
end  of  June  I  made  application  to  the  Board: 
and  left  Vellingey  in  July,  to  sail  for  Bombay  on 
board  the  Warren  Hastings,  in  my  old  capacity 
of  first  mate.  My  abandoning  the  field  to  Ol)ed 
would  deserve  some  credit,  had  Margit  ever  by 
word  or  look  given  me  the  slightest  reason  to  hope. 
But  she  had  not;  indeed  I  hoped  that  she  had 
never  guessed  the  state  of  my  feelings. 

Eighteen  months  passed  before  I  returned  to 
Vellingey — this  time  on  a  short  leave.  Obed  had 
written  constantly  and  with  all  the  old  familiarity; 
a  good  deal  concerning  Margit — her  health,  her 
walks,  her  household  business — everything,  in 
short,  but  what  I  expected  and  dreaded  to  hear. 
"  Come,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  five  minutes'  start 
in  life  and  eighteen  months  in  courtship  is  no 
such  bad  allowance  for  Obed.  Perhaps  he  will 
allow  me  now  to  have  my  turn." 

I  had  this  thought  in  my  head  as  I  drew  near 

Vellingey   in   a  light   gig  hired   from  the   Truro 

postmaster.     It  was  a  rainy  afternoon  in  January, 

and   a  boisterous  north-wester  blew  the   Atlantic 

weather  in  our  teeth  as  wo  mounted  the  rise  over 

1G3 


FEOZEN    MARGIT 

Vellingej  cliiirclitown.  My  head  being  bent 
down,  I  did  not  observe  the  figure  of  a  woman 
coming  up  the  vilLage  street,  but  looked  up  on 
hearing  the  sound  of  her  clogs  close  beside  the 
gig.     It  was  Selina,  tearful,  carrying  a  bundle. 

"  Whatever  is  the  matter  ? "  I  asked,  on  pull- 
ing up. 

"  They've  turned  me  to  door,"  she  moaned. 
"  My  dear,  they've  turned  me  to  door." 

She  was  tramping  home  to  her  cousins  in  St. 
Day  parish.  ISTot  another  night  would  she  sleep 
at  Vellingey — to  be  trampled  on.  Of  course  she 
accused  the  "  foreign  woman  " :  but  I,  it  seemed, 
had  started  the  quarrel  this  time;  or,  rather,  it 
started  over  the  preparations  for  my  home-coming 
— some  trifling  matter  of  cookery.  Selina  knew 
my  tastes.  Margit  professed  to  know  them  better. 
Such  are  women. 

I  own  that  as  I  sent  the  poor  soul  on  her  way, 

with  a  promise  that  the  gig  should  carry  back  her 

boxes  from  Vellingey  and  a  secret  resolve  that  she 

should  return  to  us  within  a  week,  I  could  not 

avoid  a  foolish  pleasure  in  the  thought  that  Margit 

deemed  my  coming  of  such  importance.     Then  it 

occurred  to  me  that  her  position  now  as  a  single 

woman  alone  at  Vellingey  lay  open  to  scandal. 

The  sooner  I  tested  my  growing  hopes,  the  better. 

164 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

I  did  so,  the  second  evening,  after  supper. 
Obcd  had  stepped  out  to  make  the  round  of  the 
farm  buiklings  and  hx'k  uj).  ]\[argit  had  re- 
moved the  white  cloth,  and  was  setting  the  brass 
candlesticks  and  tobacco  jar  on  the  uncovered 
table. 

"  What  is  going  to  happen  about  Selina  ? "  I 
asked,  from  my  chair. 

Margit  set  do^vn  a  candlestick.  "  Selina  has 
gone,"  she  said  quietly. 

"  But  people  will  talk,  if  you  stay  here  alone 
wdtli  us,  or  with  Obed.  You  mustn't  mind  my 
saying  this." 

"  Oh,  no.     I  suppose  they  will  talk." 

I  stood  up.  "  I  take  it,"  said  I,  "  you  cannot 
be  quite  blind  to  my  feelings,  Margit.  I  came 
home  on  purpose  to  speak  to  you:  but  perhaps, 
if  it  had  not  been  for  this,  I  might  have  put  off 
speaking  for  some  days.  If  you  care  for  me  at 
all,  though,  I  think  you  can  answer.  My  dear,  if 
you  will  marry  me  it  will  make  me  a  happy 
man." 

She  was  fingering  the  candle-base,  just  touch- 
ing the  brass  with  her  finger-tips  and  withdraw- 
ing them  gently.  She  looked  up.  "  I  rather 
thought,"  she  said,  "  you  would  have  spoken  last 

night.     Obed   asked    me   this   morning — he    gave 

165 


FROZEN    MAEGIT 

yon  that  cliance:  and  I  have  promised  to  marry 
him." 

"  Good  Lord!  but  this  is  a  question  of  loving 
a  man!  " 

"  I  have  never  said  that  I  like  you  better.  I 
shall  make  Obed  a  very  good  wife." 

Less  than  a  minute  later,  Obed  came  into  the 
room,  after  slamming  the  back-door  loudly.  He 
did  not  look  at  our  faces:  but  I  am  sure  that  he 
knew  exactly  what  had  happened. 

They  were  married  in  April,  a  fortnight  after 
my  leaving  England  on  another  voyage.  We 
parted  the  best  of  friends;  and  in  the  course  of 
the  next  seven  years  I  spent  most  of  my  holidays 
with  them.  ISTo  married  life  could  well  be 
smoother  than  was  Obed's  and  Margit's  in  all 
this  time.  He  worshipped  her  to  fondness;  and 
she,  without  the  least  parade  of  affection,  seemed 
to  make  his  comfort  and  well-being  the  business 
of  her  life.  It  hardly  needs  to  be  said  that  my 
unfortunate  proposal  was  ignored  by  all  of  us  as 
a  thing  that  had  never  happened. 

In  October,  1802,  I  reached  the  height  of  my 

ambition,  being  appointed  to  the  command  of  the 

Company's  ship  Macartney,  engaged  in  the  China 

traffic.     I  call  her  the  Macartney:  but  the  reader 

166 


FKOZEN    MARGIT 

will  presently  see  tliat  I  have  reasons  for  not 
wishing  to  make  puhlic  the  actual  name  of  this 
vessel,  which,  however,  will  be  sufficiently  familiar 
to  all  who  knew  me  at  that  time  and  who  have 
therefore  what  I  may  call  a  private  interest  in  this 
narrative.  For  the  same  reason  I  shall  say  no 
more  of  her  than  that  she  was  a  new  ship,  Thames- 
built,  and  more  than  commonly  fast;  and  that  I 
commanded  her  from  October  1802  to  June  1806. 

She  carried  passengers,  of  coui-se:  and  in  the 
autumn  of  1805  it  surprised  and  delighted  me  to 
hear  from  Obed  that  he  and  Margit  had  deter- 
mined on  a  sea-voyage,  and  wished  to  book  their 
passages  to  the  Canton  River  and  back  in  the 
Macartney.  I  had  often  given  this  invitation  in 
jest:  but  such  voyages  merely  for  health  and 
pleasure  were  then  far  from  common.  Yet  there 
was  no  single  impediment  to  their  going.  They 
had  no  children:  they  were  well-to-do:  they  had 
now  a  hind,  or  steward  (one  Stephens),  to  whose 
care  they  might  comfortably  leave  the  farm.  To 
be  short,  they  sailed  with  me. 

On    the    2nd    of    May    1806,    the    Macartney 

dropped  anchor  in  the  Canton  River  after  a  fast 

and  prosperous  voyage.     The  events  I  have  now 

to  relate  will   appear  least  extraordinary   to  the 

reader  who  best  understands  under  what  condi- 

167 


FEOZEN    MARGIT 

tions  the  English  can-y  on  their  trade  with  China. 
Let  me  saj,  then,  that  in  its  jealousy  of  us  for- 
eign barbarians  the  Chinese  government  confines 
our  ships  to  the  one  port  of  Canton  and  reserves 
the  right  of  nominating  sucli  persons  as  shall  be 
permitted  to  trade  wdth  us.  These  Hong  mer- 
chants (in  number  less  than  a  dozen)  are  each 
and  all  responsible  to  the  Emperor  for  any  dis- 
turbance that  may  be  committed  by  a  person  be- 
longing to  a  foreign  ship:  and  they  in  turn  look 
for  compensation  to  the  European  factors.  So 
that,  a  Chinese  mob  being  the  most  insolent  in 
the  world,  and  the  spirit  of  British  seamen  pro- 
verbial, these  factors  often  find  themselves  in  situ- 
ations of  great  delicacy,  and  sometimes  of  more 
than  a  little  danger. 

It  happened  that  on  the  next  day  after  our 
arrival  a  small  party  of  us — Margit  and  Obed, 
the  second  ofiicer,  Mr.  Tomlinson,  and  I — had 
taken  a  short  stroll  ashore  and  were  returning  to 
the  boat,  which  lay  ready  by  the  landing,  manned 
by  six  seamen.  The  coxswain  brought  the  boat 
alongside:  and  I,  on  the  lowest  step  of  the  land- 
ing-stage, stooped  to  hold  her  steady  while  Margit 
embarked.  She  and  Obed  waited  on  the  step 
next  above,  with  Mr.  Tomlinson  close  behind.     A 

small  crowd  had  followed  us:    and  just  then  one 

1G8 


FROZEN    MAEGIT 

dirty  Chinaman  reached  forward  and  witli  a  word 
or  two  (no  doubt  indecent)  laid  his  open  palm  on 
the  back  of  Margit's  neck.  Quick  as  thought,  she 
lifted  a  hand  and  dealt  him  a  rousing  box  in  the 
ear.  I  sprang  up  and  pushed  him  back  as  he  re- 
covered. He  slipped  on  the  gTcen  ooze  of  the 
steps  and  fell:  this  was  all  I  saw,  for  the  crowd 
made  a  rush  and  closed.  Obed  and  Mr.  Tondin- 
son  had  hun-ied  Margit  into  the  boat:  I  leapt 
after  them:  and  we  pushed  off  under  a  brisk 
shower  of  dirt  and  stones.  "We  were  soon  out  of 
range,  and  reached  the  ship  without  mishap. 

Knowing  the  nature  of  a  Chinese  rabble,  I  felt 
glad  enough  that  the  affair  had  proved  no  worse: 
and  thought  little  more  of  it  until  early  next 
morning,  when  Mr.  Findlater,  the  first  officer, 
came  with  a  puzzled  face  and  reported  that  dur- 
ing the  night  someone  had  attached  a  boat,  with 
a  dead  Chinaman  in  it,  to  the  chain  of  our  small 
bower  anchor. 

I  went  on  deck  at  once.  A  good  look  at  the 
corpse  relieved  me:  for  as  far  as  my  recollection 
served,  it  bore  no  resemblance  to  the  man  I  had 
pushed  on  the  landing.  I  told  off  two  of  the 
rowers  of  the  previous  day — the  two  whose  posi- 
tion in  the  bows  had  given  them  the  best  view  of 

the  scuffle — to  cut  the  thing  adrift.     They  did  so 

169 


FEOZEN    MARGIT 

and  came  back  with  the  report  that  they  had  never 
seen  the  dead  man  before  in  their  lives.  So  I 
tried  to  feel  easy. 

But  soon  after  breakfast,  and  almost  in  the  full 
heat  of  the  day,  there  came  off  a  galley  with  two 
of  the  Hong  merchants  and  no  less  a  person  than 

Mr.   ,   the   Chief  of  the  H.E.I.C.'s  factory. 

He  brought  serious  news.  The  boat  had  drifted 
up  the  river  and  had  been  recovered  by  a  crowd 
of  Chinese,  who  took  out  the  dead  man  and  laid 
him  on  the  doorstep  of  the  factory,  clamouring 
that  he  had  been  killed,  the  day  before,  by  an 
Englishwoman;  and  threatening,  unless  she  were 
given  up,  to  seize  the  first  supercargo  that  came 
out  and  carry  him  off  to  be  strangled. 

I  answered,  describing  the  scuffle  and  declaring 
my  readiness  to  swear  that  the  body  bore  no  re- 
semblance to  the  fellow  whose  ear  Margit  had 
boxed.  But  I  knew  how  little  this  testimony 
would  avail  in  a  Chinese  court.  The  two  Hong 
merchants  assured  me  that  their  brother,  the 
Macartney' s  guarantor,  was  already  in  the  hands 
of  the  magistrates,  who  had  handcuffed  him  and 
were  threatening  him  with  the  bamboo:  that  an 
interdiction  lay  on  the  Macartney^s  cargo,  and 
Mr.  himself  ran  no  small  risk  of  imprison- 
ment. 

170 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

Our  position  was  at  once  absurd  and  extremely 

serious.     To  do  him  justice,   Mr.   at   once 

agreed  that  there  could  be  no  question  of  deliver- 
ing up  Margit:  the  penalty  of  her  offence,  if 
proved  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  Chinese  magis- 
trates, being — I  can  hardly  bring  myself  to  write 
it — nothing  short  of  strangulation.  lie  could 
only  promise  to  accept  for  the  while  the  risks  of 
delay  and  do  his  utmost  to  bribe  the  magis- 
trates into  compromising  the  matter  for  a  small 
fine. 

He  proved  as  good  as  his  word.  For  five  weeks 
the  Macartney  lay  at  anchor  without  discharging 
a  pennyweight  of  her  cargo ;  and  every  day  brought 
a  new  threat,  edict,  or  proclamation.  At  the  end 
of  the  first  week  the  security  merchant  was  al- 
lowed to  send  his  agents  to  offer  a  reward  of 
20,000  dollars  to  any  man  of  our  crew  who  would 
swear  to  having  seen  the  Englishwoman  strike 
the  deceased.  The  agents  conducted  their  parley 
from  a  boat,  and  only  made  off  on  being  threat- 
ened with  a  bucket  of  slops.  I  kept  the  ship's 
guns  loaded,  and  set  on  a  double  watch,  niglit  and 
day.  His  wife's  peril  threw  Obed  into  a  state  of 
apprehension  so  pitiable  that  I  began  to  fear  for 
his  mind,     !^^argit,   on  the   other  hand,   behaved 

with    the    coolest    composure:     and    I    had    some 

171 


FROZEN    MAEGIT 

trouble  in  persuading  her  to  remain  below  decks 
and  out  of  sight.  She  relied  cheerfully  on  us 
and  on  the  crew,  every  man  of  whom  she  had 
bound  to  her  (I  suppose  by  her  remarkable  beauty) 
in  the  completest  loyalty. 

In  five  weeks  Mr,  had  spent  at  least  as 

many  thousands  of  pounds;  and  still  matters  were 
at  a  stand  when,  one  day,  Mr.  Tomlinson  reported 
a  boat  under  our  quarter  demanding  speech  with 
us.  I  went  to  the  side  and  saw  a  tall  lank-haired 
man,  in  a  suit  of  white  duck,  standing  in  the 
stern-sheets  with  the  tiller-lines  in  his  hands. 

"  ISTo  pigtail  on  me.  Cap  !  "  he  bawled.  "  I'm 
Oliphant  Q.  Wills,  of  the  American  barque  Inde- 
pendence: and  I  want  to  come  aboard."  He 
pointed  to  his  vessel,  which  had  entered  the  river 
soon  after  us,  and  now  lay,  ready  for  sea,  two 
cables  distant  from  us. 

I  saw  no  reason  for  refusing;  and  in  less  than 
a  minute  he  came  running  up  the  ladder,  and  in- 
troduced himself  again.  "  Business,"  said  he;  so 
I  led  him  to  my  cabin. 

"  Hullo  !  "  said  he,  looking  over  the  floor.  "  I 
observe  you  don't  chew."  He  glanced  at  the 
stem-window.  I  opened  it.  Our  talk  then  ran 
as  follows: — 

Capt.  W.     "  I've  come  to  trade." 

173 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

Self.  "  Then  you  have  come,  sir,  to  a  very 
bad  ship." 

Capt.  W.  "  I  allowed  you  would  say  that.  I 
know  all  about  it,  and  came  in  consequence.  I 
never  miss  a  chance." 

Self.     "  You  wish  to  buy,  of  course." 

Capt.  W.     "  Not  at  all.     I'm  here  to  sell." 

Self.     "  What,  pray  ?  " 

Capt.  W.  "  A  half-hogshead  cask  of  pretty  or- 
dinary Geneva:    with  a  Dutchwoman  inside." 

Self.  "  Now,  where  on  earth  could  you  have 
picked  that  up  ?  " 

Capt.  W.  (spitting  out  of  -window).  "  In  lati- 
tude 28°;  in  a  flat  calm;  off  a  Dutch  East  India- 
man.  The  name  I  have  at  home  on  a  bit  of 
paper:  you  shall  have  it  as  warranty  with  the 
cask.  The  captain  was  drunk,  and  I  traded  with 
the  mate.  I  never  miss  a  chance.  The  mate 
said  nothing  of  the  woman  inside.  I  believe  her 
to  be  the  captain's  wife,  preserv^ed  for  burial 
ashore.  This  is  painful  for  me  to  speak  about; 
for  I  had  the  worst  of  the  deal,  and  such  is  not 
my  reputation.  But  I  allowed  I  would  sell  that 
cask  at  a  profit  if  I  carried  it  around  for  a  hun- 
dred years." 

Self.     "  What  do  you  ask  ?  " 

Capt.  TF.     "  Well,   I  have  been   enquiring  of 

173 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

Mr.  ,  jour  Chief  Factor  here;  and  he  tells 

me  that  your  brother,  Mr.  Obed  Lanyon,  was 
with  Cook  and  Vancouver,  and  knows  the  coast 
from  Cape  Flattery  northwards  and  round  by  the 
Aleutians  like  the  palm  of  his  hand.  ITow  it 
happens  I  have  business  up  there  among  the  Rus- 
sian settlements — part  trade,  part  exploring — I 
needn't  say  more,  for  the  United  States'  Govern- 
ment didn't  send  me  to  tell  secrets.  A  man  like 
your  brother  would  be  money  in  my  pocket  all 
the  way:  and  at  the  end  of  the  job  I  would  un- 
dertake to  deliver  him  and  his  wife  safely  at  any 
American  port  within  reason,  with  money  to  take 
them  home  like  princes,  and  a  trifle  over.  I'm  a 
square  man:  and  if  I  weren't  you  couldn't  be  in 
a  worse  fix  than  you  are." 

"  I  think,"  said  I,  "  if  you  do  not  mind  wait- 
ing a  few  minutes,  we  will  trade,  Mr.  "Wills." 
With  this  I  went  on  deck  and  hoisted  my  private 

signal  for  Mr.  ,  who  came  alongside  in  less 

than  half-an-hour.  He  was  a  practical  man,  and 
at  once  saw  the  prospect  of  escape  held  out  by  the 
American's  offer,  ridiculous  as  it  may  seem  to 
those  who  know  little  of  Chinese  law  and  custom. 
Indeed  one  of  the  magistrates  had  frankly  ap- 
pealed to  Mr.  to  hire  a  substitute  for  Margit 

among  the  negro  women  at  Macao :   and  our  friend 

174 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

engaged  that  by  spending  a  few  hundred  addi- 
tional dollars  he  would  get  the  Dutchwoman's 
corpse  accepted  as  full  discharge  for  the  offence, 
provided  that  Mrs.  Lanyon  could  be  smuggled  out 
of  the  Canton  Kiver.     This  Captain  Wills  readily 

undertook  to  do.     Mr.  then  suggested  that 

his  negotiations  would  be  made  easier  by  the  dis- 
appearance of  all  implicated  in  the  scuffle — i.e. 
Mr.  Tomlinson  and  myself,  as  well  as  Obed  and 
Mrs.  Lanyon.  Mr.  Findlater,  my  first  officer, 
could    take    command    and   work   the   Macartney 

home;  and  Mr.  engaged  to  make  our  case 

right  with  the  Company,  though  at  the  cost  to  me 
of  the  indirect  profits  which  a  commander  looks 
to  make  from  a  homeward  voyage.  \\f^o  discussed 
this  for  some  while,  and  in  the  end  agreed  to  it. 
Captain  Wills,  being  short-handed,  was  even  gen- 
erous enough  to  offer  me  a  small  sum  for  my  ser- 
vices in  assisting  him  with  the  navigation. 

To  be  short,  all  was  arranged.  That  same  night 
a  boat  from  the  Independence  brought  the  famous 
cask  of  Geneva  alongside,  and  took  us  four  Eng- 
lish people  in  exchange,  and  by  4  a.m.  we  were 
under  weigh  and  heading  for  tlie  open  sea. 

The  Independence  steered  through  the  For- 
mosa Strait,  across  the  Eastern  Sea,  aiid  on  the 

25th  of  July  entered  the  bay  of  ISTagasaki  under 

175 


FEOZEN    MAEGIT 

Russian  colours,  wliicli  she  thenceforth  continued 
to  fly.  Like  most  European  captains,  our  Amer- 
ican kept  his  straightfoinvard  dealing  for  certain 
races  only.  He  produced  his  trading  articles :  but 
the  Japanese  wanted  nothing,  and  demanded  to 
know  what  brought  him  there  ?  He  answered 
that  he  wanted  water  and  fresh  provisions  (we 
had  a  plenty  of  both),  and  to  prove  it,  ordered 
several  butts  to  be  started,  and  brought  empty  on 
deck.  This  was  enough  for  the  hospitable  Jap- 
anese; who  next  day  brought  supplies  of  hogs,  fish, 
and  vegetables,  for  which  they  asked  no  payment; 
besides  four  dozen  large  tubs  of  water,  which  Cap- 
tain Wills  emptied  on  deck,  stopping  the  scup- 
pers, and  removing  the  plugs  at  night  so  that  the 
water  might  not  be  perceived.  On  the  fourth 
day  we  got  under  weigh  again ;  our  deluded  friends 
even  going  so  far  in  kindness  as  to  tow  us  out  of 
the  bay,  and  parting  from  us  with  cheers  and 
much  waving  of  hats  and  hands. 

From  ISTagasaki  we  made  for  Kamschatka 
and  thence  for  the  Aleutian  Islands  and  the 
American  coast.  On  his  way  Captain  Wills 
sedulously  prosecuted  the  business  for  which  his 
vessel  had  been  chartered  by  the  Russian  Amer- 
ican Company,  and  distributed  his  cargo  of  nan- 
keens, silks,  tea,  sugar,  etc.,  among  the  Russian 

176 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

settlements  dotted  among  the  islands.  So  far, 
Obcd's  services  had  been  in  little  rcqnest:  and  I, 
too,  had  leisure  to  observe  and  wonder  at  a  certain 
remarkable  change  that  had  come  over  Margit — 
as  it  seemed  to  mc,  from  the  time  of  onr  entering 
the  parallels  above  50°.  Iler  usual  calm  bearing 
had  given  way  to  succeeding  fits  of  restlessness 
and  apathy.  At  times  she  would  sit  dejected  for 
hours  together;  at  others,  she  would  walk  the 
deck  without  pause,  her  cloak  thrown  open  to  the 
cold  wind,  which  she  seemed  to  drink  like  a  thirsty 
creature.  One  day,  the  vessel  being  awkwardly 
becalmed  within  a  mile  of  an  ugly-looking  ice- 
berg, her  excitement  rose  to  something  like  a 
frenzy.  The  weather  being  hazy,  Obed — who 
was  busy  with  the  captain,  taking  soundings — 
asked  me  to  run  below  for  his  glass;  and  there  I 
almost  fell  over  Margit,  who  lay  on  the  cabin 
floor,  her  whole  body  writhing,  her  hands  tightly 
clenched  upon  a  handkerchief  which  she  had  torn 
to  rags.  Of  course  I  asked  what  ailed  her,  and 
offered  to  bring  help,  medicines,  anything.  She 
rose  in  confusion.  '  It  was  a  pain  at  the  heart,' 
she  said;  ^nothing  more:  it  would  quickly  pass: 
the  cold  brought  it  on,  she  thought.  T  would 
oblige  her  by  going  away;  and,  above  all,  by  say- 
ing nothing  to  Obed.' 

177 


FROZEN    MAEGIT 

To  what  extent  Obed  remarked  the  change,  I 
cannot  tell.  He  now  began  to  be  pretty  busy 
with  his  soundings  and  sketches  of  the  coast.  We 
had  left  Kadjak  on  the  9th  of  October,  and  on 
the  last  day  of  the  month  were  cruising  off  Queen 
Charlotte's  Island.  So  far,  considering  the  late- 
ness of  the  season,  we  had  enjoyed  remarkable 
weather.  The  natives,  too,  w^ere  friendly  beyond 
expectation.  The  sight  of  our  vessel  brought 
them  off  in  great  numbers  and  at  times  we  had  as 
many  as  a  hundred  canoes  about  us,  the  largest 
holding  as  many  as  ten  people,  some  armed  with 
muskets,  but  the  most  with  lances  and  forks 
pointed  with  stags'  antlers  and  a  kind  of  scimetar 
made  of  whale-rib.  We  suffered  but  two  or  three 
persons  to  board  us  at  a  time,  and  traded  with 
them  for  dried  fish,  sea-otters,  beaver  and  rein- 
deer skins.  A  string  of  glass  beads  (blue  was  the 
favourite  colour)  would  buy  a  salmon  of  20  lbs. 
weight:  but  for  beaver  they  would  take  nothing 
less  valuable  than  China  stuffs. 

Obed  had  warned  us  against  the  natives  of 
Queen  Charlotte's  Island,  as  likely  to  prove 
stronger  and  less  friendly  than  any  we  had  en- 
countered. We  felt  a  reasonable  anxiety,  there- 
fore, when,  almost  as  soon  as  we  sighted  the  island, 

a  thick  fog  came  up  with  some  wind  and  a  heavy 

178 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

swell  fruin  the  south  anJ  hid  the  coast  completely. 
This  lasted  until  November  2nd  at  daybreak, 
when  the  weather  lifted  and  we  saw  land  at 
about  eight  miles'  distance.  Unhappily  the  wind 
dropped  at  once,  while  the  motion  of  the  waves 
continued,  and  our  sails  being  useless,  we  found 
ourselves  drifting  rapidly  shoreward  with  the  set 
of  the  current.  It  the  height  of  our  dismay, 
however,  a  breeze  sprang  up  from  the  northwest, 
and  we  worked  off. 

But  we  were  over-hasty  in  blessing  this  breeze, 
which  before  midnight  grew  to  a  violent  gale: 
and  for  two  days  we  drove  before  it  in  much  dis- 
tress— Obed  and  I  taking  turns  at  conning  the 
ship,  since  Captain  Wills  had  received  an  awkward 
blow  between  the  shoulders  from  the  swinging  of 
a  loose  block,  and  lay  below  in  considerable  pain 
and  occasionally  spitting  blood,  which  made  us 
fear  some  inward  hurt.  During  the  night  of  the 
4th,  the  wind  moderated;  but  the  weather  turning 
thick  again,  we  were  hardly  reassured. 

Early  on  the  Gth  Captain  Wills  appeared  once 

more   on   deck  and   sent  me   below   to   get   some 

sleep.     I  believe  indeed  that,  had  fate  allowed,  I 

could   have   slept   round   the   clock.     But   at    ten 

that  morning  a  violent  shock  pitched  me  clean  out 

of  my  berth.     The  Independence  was  aground. 

179 


FEOZEN    MAEGIT 

The  place  of  our  shipwreck  you  will  find  In  47  ** 
66'  jST.  lat.,  between  Vancouver's  Cape  Flattery 
and  the  mouth  of  the  Columbia  River,  but  nearer 
to  the  former.  Luckily  the  Independence  had  run 
in  upon  soft  ground  and  at  high  water:  so  that 
when  the  tide  dropped  she  still  held  together, 
though  badly  shaken  and  gaping  in  all  her  lower 
seams.  To  save  her  was  out  of  the  question. 
We  therefore  made  the  best  of  our  way  ashore  in 
the  dense  fog,  taking  with  us  all  our  guns  and 
the  best  part  of  our  ammunition,  as  well  as  pro- 
visions and  a  quantity  of  sails  and  spars  for  rigging 
up  tents.  On  no  side  of  us  could  we  see  further 
than  twenty  paces.  Of  the  inhabitants  of  this 
dreary  spot — if  indeed  it  had  inhabitants — we 
knew  nothing.  So  we  first  of  all  cleaned  and 
loaded  our  firearms,  and  then  set  to  work  to  light 
a  fire  and  erect  a  shelter.  We  had  done  better,  as 
it  turned  out,  "to  have  divided  our  company,  and 
told  off  a  fairly  strong  party  to  protect  the  ship. 
As  it  was.  Captain  Wills  remained  on  board  with 
three  men  to  cut  away  and  take  down  some  of  the 
heavier  tackling. 

Wo  had  set  up  one  tent  and  were  at  work  on 

the  second,   when   I  heard   an   exclamation   from 

Margit,  who  stood  by  the  big  cauldron,  a  few  paces 

off,  cooking  our  dinner  of  salt  jiork.     Looking  up 

180 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

I  saw  a  ring  of  savages  all  about  us  on  the  edge 
of  the  fog. 

They  were  brown  undersized  men,  clothed  for 
the  most  part  in  dirty  bkmkcts  and  anned  with 
short  lances  shod  with  iron,  though  one  or  two 
carried  muskets.  These  last  I  soon  discovered  to 
be  toens,  or  elders,  of  the  tribe.  They  stood  and 
observed  us  with  great  gravity  (indeed  in  all  my 
acquaintance  with  them  I  never  knew  one  to  smile) 
and  in  absolute  silence.  I  could  not  tell  how  many 
the  fog  concealed.  They  made  no  aggressive 
movement. 

I  called  to  Margit,  bidding  her  leave  the  caul- 
dron and  walk  quietly  towards  us;  and  she  did  so. 
Almost  at  once  a  savage  thrust  his  lance  into  the 
pot,  drew  out  our  dinner  on  the  end  of  it,  and 
laid  it  on  the  sand.  One  of  the  toens  then  cut  up 
the  pork  with  his  knife  and  handed  the  portions 
round,  retaining  a  large  lump  for  himself. 

Seeing  this,  some  of  our  men  were  for  hostili- 
ties: but  I  restrained  them  and  we  made  our  meal 
from  a  barrel  of  biscuit,  eating  in  silence  while 
the  natives  chewed  away  at  the  pork.  The  meal 
over,  we  fell  to  work  and  finished  the  second  tent 
without  opposition,  though  curiosity  drew  some  of 
our  visitors  so  near  as  to   hamper  the  workmen. 

AVheu   thj'ust   asi^e   they   showed   no   resentment, 

181 


FEOZEN    MARGIT 

but  after  a  minute  drew  near  again  and  impeded 
us  as  badly  as  ever. 

Towards  nightfall  the  main  body  drew  off — 
whither,  the  fog  did  not  reveal:  but  one  or  two 
entered  the  tents  wdth  us,  hung  around  while  we 
supped,  and  without  the  least  invitation  stretched 
themselves  down  to  sleep.  I  own_  that  this  impu- 
dence tried  my  temper  sorely,  and  Owen — the  only 
one  of  us  who  knew  some  scraps  of  the  language 
of  these  Indians — went  so  far  as  to  remonstrate 
with  them.  But  if  they  understood,  they  gave  no 
sign  of  understanding:  and  we  resolved  to  for- 
bear from  ^^olence,  at  least  so  long  as  Captain 
Wills  and  his  three  comrades  remained  away  from 
our  main  body  and  exposed  to  any  vengeance  these 
savages  might  wreak. 

And  our  fears  for  the  Captain  were  justified 
about  4  a.m.  by  a  report  of  firearms  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  ship.  I  sprang  to  the  door  and  waved 
a  torch,  and  in  a  minute  or  so  our  comrades  came 
running  in  through  a  shower  of  stones  and  lances, 
several  of  which  struck  the  tents.  The  natives, 
it  appeared,  had  attempted  to  plunder  the  ship. 
At  great  risk  Obed  ran  out  to  seek  one  of  the  toens 
and  reason  with  him:  but  the  mischief  happened 
too  quickly.     Some  of  our  men  caught  up  their 

muskets  and  fired.     Our  assailants  at  once  broke 

182 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

up  and  fled;  and  half-a-dozen  of  lis  charged  down 
to  the  water's  edge,  where  we  saw  a  score  and 
more  with  torches,  bnsily  setting  fire  to  the  ship. 
They  too  dispersed  before  iis,  leaving  two  of  their 
number  dead  on  the  field  and  carrying  off  several 
wounded.  But  we  came  too  late  to  save  the  Inde- 
'pendence,  which  was  already  ablaze  in  a  dozen 
different  places;  nor  could  we  make  any  effort 
against  the  flames,  for  we  knew  not  how  sorely 
we  might  be  wanted  at  the  tents. 

So  we  returned  and  spent  the  rest  of  the  night 
in  great  discomfort,  the  blaze  of  the  ship  colour- 
ing the  fog  all  around,  but  showing  us  nothing. 
Soon  after  davbreak  the  weather  lifted  a  little, 
and  what  we  saw  discouraged  us  yet  further.  For, 
except  the  beach  on  which  we  were  encamped,  we 
found  the  whole  coast  covered  with  thick  forest  to 
the  water's  edge;  while  our  boats,  in  which  we 
might  have  made  shift  to  escape,  had  been  either 
fired  or  taken  off  by  the  savages.  At  10  a.m., 
therefore,  Captain  Wills  called  a  council  of  war, 
and  informed  us  that  he  could  think  of  no  better 
plan  than  to  push  on  for  a  harbour  (its  name,  if 
I  mistake  not,  was  Gray's  HarboTir)  lying  about 
seventy  miles  to  the  southward,  where  a  ship  of 
the  Company  was  due  to  call  early  in  the  spring. 

Obed  remembered  it,  and  added  that  the  journey 

183 


FEOZEN    MAEGIT 

might  be  quickly  made,  since  his  map  showed  no 
creek  or  river  that  promised  to  impede  us,  and  the 
Indians  were  not  likely  to  annoy  us  while  the 
camp  and  the  remains  of  the  barque  afforded  any 
f)lunder.  Accordingly  we  packed  up,  and  having 
destroyed  what  muskets  and  weapons  we  did  not 
want  and  thrown  our  spare  gunpowder  into  the 
sea,  shortly  after  noon  began  our  march  through 
the  forest. 

We  were  nineteen  persons  in  all:  and  each  of 
us  carried  two  muskets,  a  pistol  and  some  pounds 
of  ammunition,  besides  his  share  of  the  provisions. 
The  only  ones  more  lightly  laden  were  Margit  and 
Captain  Wills.  The  latter,  indeed,  could  with 
pain  manage  to  walk  at  all,  and  so  clogged  the 
pace  of  the  party  that  we  made  but  eight  miles 
before  nightfall,  when  we  halted  in  an  open  space, 
set  watches,  and  passed  the  night  with  no  more 
discomfort  than  came  from  the  severe  cold. 

In  the  morning  we  started  early  and  made  a 

good  ten  miles  before  noon.     The  Captain  now 

seemed  at  the  end  of  his  powers  and  we  allowed 

him  an  hour's  rest  while  we  cleaned  our  firearms. 

Margit  gave  no  sign  of  fatigue:    but  I  observed 

that  she  walked  alone  and  in  silence.     Indeed  she 

had  scarcely  spoken  since  our  shipwreck. 

The  ground  chosen  for  our  halt  lay  about  mid- 
184 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

way  down  a  stiff  slope  by  whieli  the  forest  de- 
scended to  the  sea,  visible  here  and  there  between 
the  stems  of  the  trees  below  us.  Shortly  before 
two  o'clock  when  we  were  preparing  to  start  again 
a  big  stone  came  crashing  down  among  our  stores; 
and,  as  we  scattered  in  alarm,  two  or  three  others 
followed.  Looking  up,  1  caught  sight  of  a  couple 
of  Indians  on  the  crest  of  the  slope,  and  fired  off 
my  rifle  to  frighten  them.  They  desisted  at  once: 
but  to  prevent  further  annoyance  we  made  for  the 
crest,  where  the  rocky  ground  made  walking  diffi- 
cult, so  that  we  added  but  another  five  miles  or  so 
before  nightfall. 

During  this  night  the  wind  rose,  and  at  length 
it  blew  and  snowed  so  hard  as  to  drive  us  off  the 
ridge.  Luckily,  however,  one  of  the  men  discov- 
ered a  shallow  cave  in  the  hillside,  and  here  we 
huddled  and  continued  all  the  next  day  and  night, 
waiting  for  the  storm  to  abate;  which  no  sooner 
happened  than  we  were  assailed  again  by  a  per- 
fect bombardment  of  big  stones.  These,  how- 
ever, flew  harmlessly  over  our  shelter, 

I  was  dozing  at  daybreak  on  the  10th  when  a 

seaman  named  Ilogue  woke  me  and  called  mv  at- 

tention  to  the  Captain.     He  was  stiff  and  cold,  and 

had  (lied   in  the  night  without  complaint  and,  as 

far  as  euuld   be  learnt,  witlunit  suund.      The   rnin 

185 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

of  stones  not  being  resumed  with  daylight,  we  left 
his  body  in  the  cave,  and  pushed  on  over  the  snow 
in  sad  and  sorry  condition:  for  our  provisions  now 
began  to  run  short. 

Obcd  assumed  the  lead,  with  the  consent  of  all. 
Once  or  twice  in  the  course  of  the  morning  I  ob- 
served him  pause,  as  if  to  listen.  The  cause  of 
this  became  apparent  at  about  one  in  the  after- 
noon, when  I,  too,  heard  the  sound  of  running 
water:  and  an  hour  later  we  halted  on  the  edge 
of  a  broad  valley,  with  a  swift  stream  running 
through  it,  black  between  banks  of  snow,  and  on 
the  near  bank  a  few  huts  and  a  crowd  of  three 
hundred  Indians  at  least. 

They  had  already  caught  sight  of  us:  so  we 
judged  it  better  to  advance,  after  looking  to  our 
arms.  We  were  met  by  a  toen  (the  same  that  had 
cut  up  the  pork)  and  a  chief  of  taller  stature  and 
pleasanter  features  than  we  had  hitherto  happened 
on  in  the  country.  It  now  appeared  that  the  pre- 
vious silence  of  these  people  had  been  deliberate: 
for  the  toon  at  once  began  to  talk  in  a  language 
fairly  intelligible  to  Obed.  He  proposed  to  supply 
us  with  boats  to  cross  the  river,  if  we  would  give 
up  our  muskets  in  payment.  This,  of  course,  we 
refused:  but  offered  him  the  whole  collection  of 

beads  and  trinkets  that  we  had  brought  with  us 

186 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

in  the  hope  of  traffickiiifij  for  food.  After  some 
haggling — to  which  the  handsome  chief,  Yootra- 
maki,  listened  mth  seeming  disdain — the  toen 
undertook  to  let  us  have  the  boats;  and  presently 
one  appeared,  paddled  by  three  naked  savages. 
As  this  would  barely  hold  a  dozen  passengers,  we 
begged  for  another,  that  we  might  all  cross  to- 
gether. The  toen  complied,  and  sent  a  second, 
but  much  smaller  boat.  In  these  we  allowed  our- 
selves to  be  distributed — Obed  and  T  with  ten 
others  in  the  larger,  and  Margit  witli  five  seamen 
in  the  smaller. 

The  boats  pushed  out  into  the  stream,  the  larger 
leading.  .  The  current  ran  deep  and  swift:  and 
when,  about  half-way  across,  the  nearest  savage 
ceased  paddling,  I  supposed  he  did  so  that  the 
others  on  the  starboard  side  might  more  easily 
bring  the  bows  round  to  it.  Before  one  could 
guess  his  true  intention  he  had  stooped  and  whipped 
out  a  plug  from  the  boat's  bottom,  at  the  same 
time  calling  to  his  comrades,  who  leapt  up  and 
Hung  themselves  overboard.  The  next  moment 
he  was  after  them,  and  the  whole  party  swimming 
to  shore.  The  current  swept  us  down  and  carried 
us  so  near  to  a  spit  of  the  shore  we  had  left,  that 
the  savages,  who  now  pelted  us  with  aiTows,  suc- 
ceeded in  killing  one  seaman,  and  wounding  four 

187 


FEOZEN    MARGIT 

othei*s:  but  here  most  fortunately  it  set  right 
across  for  the  opposite  bank,  where  we  contrived 
to  land  just  as  our  boat  sank  beneath  us.  Those 
in  the  smaller  boat,  however,  fell  into  our  enemy's 
hands,  who  clubbed  the  five  seamen  on  the  head, 
sparing  only  Margit;  and  then,  supposing  our 
muskets  to  be  wet  and  useless,  crossed  over  in  a 
canoe  to  attack  us. 

But  as  Providence  would  have  it,  we  had  fom* 
muskets  left  dry — they  being  slung  round  us  in 
bandoliers — and  the  gi'eater  part  of  our  powder 
unspoiled.  We  met  the  foe  with  a  volley  which 
disposed  of  three  and  sank  the  canoe.  The  sur- 
vivors swam  for  it,  and  I  dare  say  reached  shore. 
A  second  canoe  put  off,  and  from  the  bows  of  it 
the  rascally  toen  (cause  of  all  this  misfortune,  as 
we  deemed)  hailed  Obed  and  offered  to  let  us  go 
in  peace  and  even  restore  Margit  if  we  would  sur- 
render our  firearms. 

I  think  the  coldest  heart  must  have  pitied  my 
poor  brother  then.  He  paced  the  bank  like  a 
mad  creature,  silent,  directing  the  most  agonised 
looks  at  his  comrades  and  at  me  in  particular. 
"We  turned  our  faces  aside;  for  his  wishes  were 
madness,  yet  we  were  asking  him  to  sacrifice  what 
was  dearest  to  him  in  the  world.  In  his  distrac- 
tion then  he  tore  off  most  of  his  clothes,  and  piling 

188 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

them  in  a  heap  besought  the  toen  to  take  them 
for  the  ransom;  and  we  too  stripped  and  stood  all 
but  naked,  adding  our  prayers  to  his.  But  the 
scoundrel,  unthout  regard  of  our  offering,  spoke  to 
his  men,  and  was  paddled  away. 

I  will  pass  over  the  hour  that  followed.  We 
quieted  Obed's  ravings  at  length;  or  rather,  they 
ceased  out  of  pure  exhaustion.  "We  were  all 
starving  in  fact,  and  the  food  left  in  our  wallets 
would  not  keep  a  cat  alive  for  another  forty-eight 
hours.  Retiring  to  a  clump  of  firs  about  100 
yards  back  from  the  river's  bank,  we  scooped  a 
hole  in  the  snow  and  entrenched  ourselves  as  well 
as  we  could  for  the  night.  Some  of  us  managed 
to  sleep  a  little:  the  others  tried  to  allay  the  pangs 
of  hunger  by  chewing  their  musket-covers,  the 
sponges  on  their  ramrods,  even  their  boot-soles. 

At  midnight  came  my  turn  for  watching.     In 

my  weakness  I  may  have  dozed,  or  perhaps  was 

light-headed.     At   any   rate,    turning   after   some 

time  to  glance  at  the  sleepers,  I  missed  Obed.     An 

ugly  suspicion  seized  me;  I  counted  the  muskets. 

Two  of  these  were  missing.     After  shaking  one 

of  the   sleepers   by   the   elbow   and   bidding  him 

watch,  I  leaped  over  our  low  breastwork  and  ran 

towards   the   river   in   the  track   of  my   brother's 

footsteps.     Almost  as  I  started,  a  flash  and  a  re- 

189 


FROZEN    MAEGIT 

port  of  a  musket  right  ahead  changed  the  current 
of  my  fears.  By  the  hght  of  the  young  moon  I 
saw  two  figures  struggling  and  rolling  together  on 
the  river's  brink.  They  were  Obed  and  our  pecul- 
iar enemy,  the  toon.  The  body  of  a  dead  Indian 
lad  was  stretched  some  ten  paces  off  beside  a  small 
canoe  which  lay  moored  by  the  bank. 

Our  comrades  came  running  up  as  I  flung  my- 
self into  the  struggle,  and  we  quickly  secured  the 
toen.  I  believe  Obed  would  have  killed  him. 
"  Don't  be  a  fool  !  "  said  I;  "  cannot  you  see  that 
we  now  have  a  hostage  for  Margit  ?  "  I  ought  at 
the  same  time  to  have  begged  his  pardon  for  my 
suspicions.  As  the  reader  already  knows,  Obed 
had  a  far  keener  ear  than  I,  and  it  had  warned  him 
of  the  canoe's  approach.  It  turned  out  afterwards 
that  the  toen  had  planned  this  little  reconnoitring 
expedition  on  his  own  account,  and  on  the  chance 
perhaps  of  filching  a  musket  or  two. 

We  quickly  laid  our  plans;  and  at  daybreak 
flung  my  gentleman,  bound  hand  and  foot,  into 
his  own  canoe,  which  Obed  and  I  paddled  into 
midstream,  while  our  party  stood  on  the  bank  and 
watched.  The  village  opposite  seemed  deserted: 
but  at  Obed's  hail  an  Indian  woman  ran  out  of 
the  largest  hut,  and  returning,  must  have  sum- 
moned the  good-looking  chief  Yootramaki;   who 

190 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

emerged  in  a  minute  or  so,  and  came  slowly  down 
the  bank.  By  this  time  several  groups  of  Indians 
had  gathered  and  stood  looking  on,  in  all  perhaps 
eighty  or  a  hundred  people. 

Obed  pointed  to  our  prisoner  and  made  his  de- 
mand. I  understood  him  to  ask  for  the  imme- 
diate ransom  of  Margit,  and  a  supply  of  salmon 
and  other  provisions  to  take  us  on  our  journey. 
The  chief  stood  considering  for  a  while;  then  spoke 
to  a  native  boy,  who  ran  to  the  house;  and  in  a 
minute  or  so  Margit  herself  appeared,  with  the 
native  woman  who  had  first  taken  word  of  us.  She 
came  down  the  bank,  and  Yootramaki  signed  to 
Obed  to  address  her;  which  he  did. 

"  Margit,"  said  he,  pointing  to  the  toen,  "  I  be- 
lieve that  in  this  scoundrel  here  God  has  pro'vnded 
a  way  out  of  all  our  troubles.  We  caught  him 
last  night  and  have  brought  him  along  as  ransom 
for  you.  But  stand  close  to  the  water  and  be 
ready  to  jump  for  the  boat  if  they  mean  treachery. 
Edom  and  I  will  see  that  you  come  to  no  harm." 

"  My  dear  husband,"  she  answered,  very  quiet 
and  slow,  "  I  think  you  are  wasting  your  time.  T 
am  sorry,  but  I  shall  not  go  with  you." 

Obed  turned  a  dazed  look  on  me,  and  then,  sup- 
posing he  had  not  heard  aright,  began  again — 

"  Stand  close  by  the  water,  and  jump  when  I 

191 


FEOZEN    MAEGIT 

give  the  word.  All  may  depend  on  your  quick- 
ness— only  be  bold,  my  dear.  I  will  explain 
after." 

"  But  it  is  I  that  must  explain.  I  am  not  going 
witli  you:   really  I  am  not." 

Obed  turned  again  to  me,  this  time  with  wide 
eyes.  "  God  of  mercy  !  "  he  cried  hoarsely;  "  her 
troubles  have  driven  her  mad  !  " 

Margit  heard.  "Oh  no,"  she  said;  "I  am  not 
mad.  The  chief  here  has  taken  me:  he  seems  to 
be  the  most  powerful  man  in  this  tribe,  and  at 
least  he  is  kind.  I  should  be  mad,  rather,  to 
wander  with  you  through  the  forests,  and  in  the 
end  fall  into  worse  hands,  or  perhaps  die  of  starva- 
tion or  cold.  I  do  not  want  to  be  frozen — again. 
Go  away  now,  when  you  have  bartered  the  man 
there  for  food.  You  have  been  very  good  to  me, 
but  this  cannot  be  helped." 

Obed  lifted  his  gun :  then  lowered  it.  "  Dom," 
he  muttered,  "  can  you  shoot  her  ?     I  cannot  !  " 

I  was  using  all  my  strength,  just  then,  to  keep 

paddling  the  canoe  against  the  current.     I  caught 

a  glimpse  of  our  comrades  on  the  further  bank: 

and    then    exactly    what    happened    I    know    not. 

Perhaps  Margit,  having  given  her  answer,  turned 

back    towards   the   house.      At   any   rate,    shrilly 

crying  her  name,  Olied  sprang  up  and  discharged 

192 


FEOZEN    MARGIT 

his  musket.  The  shot  went  wide.  With  a  sec- 
ond furious  cry  he  stooped,  caught  up  the  help- 
less toen,  and  held  him  high  in  air.  The  canoe 
lurched  heavily,  and  the  next  instant  I  was  in  the 
water. 

I  never  saw  Obed  again :  and  the  toen  must  have 
gone  down  like  a  stone.  For  me,  I  struck  out  for 
the  far  shore,  but  the  current  swept  me  down  on 
the  sandy  spit  where  we  had  nearly  come  to  ship- 
wreck, the  day  before.  Several  Indians  had  gath- 
ered there.  One  ran  into  the  water,  waist-high, 
lifting  a  club.  I  turned  and  made  a  last  effort  to 
swim  from  him,  but  he  flung  liimseK  on  my  back 
and  bore  me  under. 

I  recovered  to  find  myself  in  an  Indian  hut. 
Margit  had  persuaded  them  to  spare  me,  and  I 
was  now,  in  name  at  least,  a  slave  in  Yootramaki's 
possession.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  however,  I  was 
allowed  to  do  pretty  much  as  I  liked;  and  my 
employment  (absurd  as  it  may  sound)  for  the  most 
part  consisted  in  designing  kites  and  other  toys  for 
the  natives,  who  in  mind  and  disposition  resemble 
children  rather  than  grown  people — sullen  and 
rather  vicious  children,  I  should  say. 

I  believe  that  Obed's  body  never  came  to  land. 

Observing  his  end  (I  was  told)  our  surviving  com- 

193 


FEOZEN    MARGIT 

rades  turned  and  fled  into  the  woods:  and  from 
that  hour  no  more  was  heard  of  them.  Probably 
they  perished  of  weariness  and  hunger;  it  is  at 
least  unlikely  in  the  extreme  that  they  found  their 
way  back  among  civilised  men. 

Though  I  accompanied  my  master  and  his  house- 
hold northward  to  the  village  near  Cape  Flattery, 
where  his  chief  residence  lay,  and  remained  more 
than  three  months  in  his  service,  I  could  never 
obtain  speech  with  Margit.  But  I  have  reason  to 
believe  she  accepted  her  new  life  with  absolute 
contentment.  No  doubt,  though,  she  found  the 
sight  of  me  an  irksome  reminder:  and  one  day 
early  in  April  Yootramaki  took  me  aside  and  prom- 
ised me  my  liberty  if  I  would  travel  with  him  as 
far  as  the  Strait,  where  an  American  brig  had 
lately  arrived.  Of  course  I  accepted  his  offer  with 
gratitude;  and  we  set  forth  next  day.  The  cap- 
tain of  this  brig  (the  Cordelia)  was  a  Mr.  Best, 
and  his  business  in  those  jDarts  seemed  to  consist 
in  trading  old  American  muskets  in  exchange  for 
furs  and  dried  fish.  The  Indians  have  no  notion 
of  repairing  a  gun  which  has  got  out  of  order,  and 
Captain  Best  actually  carried  a  gunsmith  on  board, 
whose  knowledge  enabled  him  to  buy  up  at  one 
place  all  the  guns  that  wanted  repairing,  and  sell 

them  as  new  pieces  at  another. 

194 


FROZEN    MARGIT 

It  only  remains  to  add  that  the  Cordelia  con- 
veyed me  to  Valparaiso,  whence  I  shipped  for 
England,  reaching  the  Downs  in  safety  on  the  4th 
of  April,  1809. 


195 


VII 

SINGULAR    ADVENTURE    OF    A 
SMALL  FREE-TRADER 


[The  events  -which  are  to  be  narrated  happened  in  the  spring 
of  1S03,  and  just  before  the  rupture  of  the  Peace  of 
Amiens  between  our  country  and  France;  but  were  re- 
lated to  my  grandfather  in  1841  by  one  Yann^  or  Jean, 
Riel,  a  Breton  "  merchant,"  alias  smuggler — whether  or 
not  a  descendant  of  the  famous  Herve  of  that  name  I  do 
not  know.  He  chanced  to  fall  ill  while  visiting  some 
friends  in  the  small  Cornish  fishing-town,  of  which  my 
grandfather  was  the  only  doctor ;  and  this  is  one  of  a 
number  of  adventures  recounted  by  him  during  his  con- 
valescence. I  take  it  from  my  grandfather's  MSS.,  but 
am  not  able,  at  this  distance  of  time,  to  learn  how  closely 
it  follows  the  actual  words  of  the  narrator. 

Smuggling  in  1841  was  scotched,  but  certainly  not  extinct, 
and  the  visit  of  M.  Riel  to  his  old  customers  was,  as 
likely  as  not,  connected  with  business. — Q.] 

^^  Item,  of  the  Cognac  25  degrees  above  proof,  according 
to  sample  in  the  little  green  fl.ask,  144  ankers  at  4  gallons 
per  anker,  at  5s.  Qd.  per  gallon,  the  said  ankers  to  be 
ready  slung  for  horse-carriage.'''' 

"  Now  may  the  mischief  fly  away  with  these 

English  !  "  cried  my  father,  to  whom  my  mother 

196 


SINGULAR   ADVENTURE 

was  reading  the  letter  aloud.  "  It  costs  a  man  a 
working  day,  with  their  gallons  and  sixpences,  to 
find  out  of  how  much  they  mean  to  rob  him  at 
the  end  of  it." 

"Item,  2  ankers  of  colouring  stujf  at  4  gallons  per 
anker,  price  as  usual.  The  place  to  be  as  before,  under 
Rope  Hauen,  east  side  of  Blackhead  unless  warned :  and 
a  straight  run.  Come  close  in,  any  wind  but  easterly, 
and  can  load  tip  horses  alongside.  March  2Uh  or  2oth 
toill  be  best,  night  tides  suiting,  and  no  moon.  Horses 
will  be  there :  two  fenced  lights,  pilchard-store  and 
beach,  showing  8  %  E  to  E  8  E.  Get  them  in  line.  Same 
pay  for  freighting,  and  crew  111.  per  man,  being  a 
straight  rtm. ' ' 

"  And  little  enough,"  was  my  father's  comment. 

"Item,  15  little  wooden  dolls,  jointed  at  the  knees  and 
elbows,  the  same  as  tante  Yvonne  used  to  sell  for  two  sols 
at  Saint  Pol  de  Leon ." 

"  '  Fifteen  little  wooden  dolls  '  !  '  Fifteen 
little  woo — '."  My  father  dropped  into  his  chair, 
and  sat  speechless,  opening  and  shutting  his  mouth 
like  a  fish. 

"  It  is  here  in  black  and  white,"  said  my  mother. 

I  found  the  letter,  years  after,  in  her  kist.     It  was 

written,  as  were  all  the  letters  we  received  from 

this  Cornish  venturer,  in  a  woman's  hand,  small 

197 


SINGULAR   ADVENTUEE 

and  delicate,  with  upstrokes  like  spider's  thread; 
written  in  French,  too,  quite  easy  and  careless. 
My  mother  held  it  close  to  the  window.  "  '  Fif- 
teen little  wooden  dolls,'  "  she  repeated,  "  '  jointed 
at  the  knees  and  elbows.'  " 

"  AVell,  I've  gone  to  sea  with  all  sorts,  from 
Admiral  Brueys  upwards;  but  fifteen  little  wooden 
dolls — jointed — at — the — knees  !  " 

"  I  know  the  sort,"  I  put  in  from  the  hearth, 
where  my  mother  had  set  me  to  watch  the  houillon. 
"  You  can  get  as  many  as  you  like  in  the  very 
next  street,  and  at  two  sols  apiece.  I  will  look  to 
that  part  of  the  cargo." 

"  You,  for  example     .     .     .      ? " 

"  Yes,  I;  since  you  promised  to  take  me  on  the 
very  next  voyage  after  I  was  twelve." 

"  But  that's  impossible.  This  is  a  straight  run, 
as  they  call  it,  and  not  a  mere  matter  of  sinking 
the  crop." 

"  And  next  time,"  I  muttered  bitterly,  "  we 
shall  be  at  war  with  England  again,  and  then  it 
will  be  the  danger  of  jDrivateers — always  one  ex- 
cuse or  another  !  " 

My  mother  sighed  as  she  looked  out  of  window 

towards  the  Isle   de  Batz.     I  had  been  coaxing 

her  half  the  morning,  and  she  had  promised  me 

to  say  nothing. 

198 


OF   A    SMALL    FREE-TRADER 

Well,  the  result  was  that  I  went.  My  father's 
lugger  earned  twelve  hands — I  counted  myself,  of 
course;  and  indeed  my  father  did  the  same  when 
it  came  to  charging  for  the  crew.  Still,  twelve 
was  not  an  out-of-the-way  number,  since  in  these 
chasse  marees  one  must  lower  and  rehoist  the  big 
sails  at  every  fresh  tack.  As  it  happened,  how- 
ever, we  had  a  fair  wind  right  across  from  Ros- 
coff,  and  made  a  good  landfall  of  the  Dodman  at 
four  in  the  afternoon,  just  twenty  hours  after 
starting.  This  was  a  trifle  too  early  for  us;  so 
we  dowsed  sail,  to  escape  notice,  and  waited  for 
nightfall.  As  soon  as  it  grew  dark,  we  lowered 
the  two  tub-boats  we  carried — one  on  davits  and 
the  other  inboard — and  loaded  them  up  and 
started  to  pull  for  shore,  leaving  two  men  behind 
on  the  lugger.  My  father  steered  the  first  boat, 
and  I  the  other,  keeping  close  in  his  wake — and 
a  proud  night  that  was  for  me  !  We  had  three 
good  miles  between  us  and  shore;  but  the  boats 
were  mere  shells  and  pulled  light  even  with  the 
tubs  in  them.  So  the  men  took  it  easy.  I 
reckon  that  it  was  well  past  midnight  before  we 
saw  the  two  lights  as  the  letter  had  promised. 

After  this  everything  went  easily.     The  beach 

at  Rope  Hauen  is  steep-to;   and  with  the  light 

breeze  there  was  hardly  a  ripple  on  it.     On  a  ris- 

199 


SINGULAR  ADVENTURE 

ing  tide  we  ran  the  boats  in  straight  upon  the 
shingle;  and  in  less  than  a  minute  the  kegs  were 
being  hove  out.  By  the  light  of  the  lantern  on 
the  beach  I  could  see  the  shifting  faces  of  the 
crowd,  and  the  troop  of  horses  standing  behind, 
quite  quiet,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  shaved  from 
forelock  to  tail,  all  smooth  and  shining  with  grease. 
I  had  heard  of  these  Cornish  horses,  and  how 
closely  they  were  clipped;  but  these  beat  all  I  had 
ever  imagined.  I  could  see  no  hair  on  them;  and 
I  saw  them  quite  close;  for  in  the  hurry  each 
horse,  as  his  turn  came,  was  run  out  alongside  the 
boat;  the  man  who  led  him  standing  knee-deep 
until  the  kegs  were  slung  across  by  the  single 
girth.  As  soon  as  this  was  done,  a  slap  on  the 
rump  sent  the  beast  shoreward,  and  the  man 
scrambled  out  after  him.  There  was  scarcely  any 
talk,  and  no  noise  except  that  caused  by  the  wad- 
ing of  men  and  horses, 

Now  all  this  time  I  carried  my  parcel  of  little 
dolls  in  a  satchel  slung  at  my  shoulder,  and  was 
wondering  to  whom  I  ought  to  deliver  it.  I  knew 
a  word  or  two  of  English,  picked  up  from  the 
smugglers  that  used  to  be  common  as  skate  at 
Roscoff  in  those  days;  so  T  made  shift  to  ask  one 
of  the  men  alongside  where  the  freighter  might 

be.     As  well  as  I  could  make  out,  he  said  that 

200 


OF    A    SMALL    FREE-TRADER 

the  freighter  was  not  on  the  beach;  but  he  pointed 
to  a  tall  man  standing  beside  the  lantern  and  gave 
me  to  understand  that  this  was  the  "  deputy." 
So  I  slipped  over  the  gunwale  and  waded  ashore 
towards  him. 

As  I  came  near,  the  man  moved  out  of  the 
light,  and  strolled  away  into  the  darkness  to  the 
left,  I  don't  know  upon  what  errand.  I  ran  after 
hun,  as  I  thought,  but  missed  him.  I  stood  still 
to  listen.  This  side  of  the  track  was  quite  de- 
serted, but  the  noise  of  the  runners  behind  me, 
though  not  loud,  was  enough  to  confuse  the  sound 
of  his  footsteps.  After  a  moment,  though,  I 
heard  a  slight  scraping  of  shingle,  and  ran  for- 
ward again — plump  against  the  warm  body  of 
some  living  thing. 

It  was  a  black  mare,  standing  here  close  under 

the  cliff,  with  the  kegs  ready  strapped  upon  her. 

I  saw  the  dark  forms  of  other  horses  behind,  and 

while  I  patted  the  mare's  shoulder,  and  she  turned 

her  head   to  sniff  and  nuzzle  me,   another  horse 

came  up  laden  from  the  water  and  joined  the  troop 

behind,  no  man  leading  or  following.     The  queer 

thing  about  my  mare,  though,  was  that  her  coat 

had  no  grease  on  it  like  the  others,  but  was  close 

and  smooth  as  satin,  and  her  mane  as  long  as  a 

colt's.     She  seemed  so  friendly  that  I,  who  had 

201 


SINGULAR   ADVENTUEE 

never  sat  astride  a  horse  in  my  life,  took  a  sudden 
desire  to  try  what  it  felt  like.  So  I  walked  round, 
and  finding  a  low  rock  on  the  other  side,  I  mounted 
it  and  laid  my  hands  on  her  mane. 

On  this  she  backed  a  foot  or  two  and  seemed 
uneasy,  then  turned  her  muzzle  and  sniffed  at  my 
leg.  "  I  suppose,"  thought  I,  "  a  Cornish  horse 
won't  understand  my  language."  But  I  whis- 
pered to  her  to  be  quiet,  and  quiet  she  was  at  once. 
I  found  that  the  tubs,  being  slung  high,  made 
quite  a  little  cradle  between  them.  "  Just  a  mo- 
ment," I  told  myself,  "  and  then  I'll  slip  off  and 
run  back  to  the  boat";  and  twining  the  fingers 
of  my  left  hand  in  her  mane,  I  took  a  spring  and 
landed  my  small  person  prone  between  the  two 
kegs,  with  no  more  damage  than  a  barked  shin- 
bone. 

And  at  that  very  instant  I  heard  a  shrill  whistle 
and  many  sudden  cries  of  alarm;  and  a  noise  of 
shouting  and  galloping  across  the  beach;  and  was 
raising  my  head  to  look  when  the  mare  rose  too, 
upon  her  hind  legs,  and  with  the  fling  of  her  neck 
caught  me  a  blow  on  the  nose  that  made  me  see 
stars.  And  then  long  jets  of  fire  seemed  to  mingle 
with  the  stars,  and  I  heard  the  pop-pop  of  pistol- 
shots  and  more  shouting. 

But  before  this  we  were  off  and  away — I  still 

202 


OF   A   SMALL   FEEE-TRADER 

flat  on  the  mare's  back,  with  a  hand  in  her  mane 

and  my  knees  wedged  against  the  tubs;  away  and 

galloping  for  the  head  of  the  beach,  with  the  whole 

troop  of  laden  horses  pounding  at  our  heels.     I 

could  see  nothing  but  the  loom  of  the  cliff  ahead 

and  the  white  shingle  underfoot;  and  I  thought 

of  nothing  but  to  hold  on — and  well  it  was  that 

I   did,   for   else  the  horses   behind  had   certainly 

trampled   me   flat  in   the   darkness.     But   all  the 

while  I  heard  shouting,   louder  and  louder,   and 

now  came  more  pounding  of  hoofs  alongside,  or  a 

little  ahead,  and  a  tall  man  on  horseback  sprang 

out    of    the    night,    and,    cannoning    against    the 

mare's  shoulder,  reached  out  a  hand  to  catch  her 

by  rein,  mane,  or  bridle.     I  should  say  that  we 

raced  in  this  way,  side  by  side,  for  ten  seconds 

or  so.     I  could  see  the  gilt  buttons  twinkling  on 

his  sleeve  as  he  reached  past  my  nose,  and  finding 

neither  bit  nor  rein,  laid  his  hand  at  length  riglit 

on  top  of  mine.     I  believe  that,   till   then,   the 

riding-officer — it  was  he,  for  the  next  time  I  saw 

a  riding-officer  I  recognised  the  buttons — had  no 

guess  of  anyone's  being  on  the  mare's  back.     But 

instead  of  the  oath  that  I  expected,  he  gave  a  shrill 

scream,  and  his  ann  dropped,  for  the  mare  had 

tuiTied  and  caught  it  in  her  teeth,  just  above  the 

elbow.      The    next    moment   she    picked    up    her 

203 


SINGULAE   ADVENTURE 

stride  again,  and  forged  past  him.  As  he  dropped 
back,  a  bullet  or  two  sang  over  iis,  and  one  went 
ping  !  into  the  right-hand  keg.  But  I  had  no  time 
to  be  afraid,  for  the  mare's  neck  rose  again  and 
caught  me  another  sad  knock  on  the  nose  as  she 
heaved  herself  up  the  cliff-track,  and  now  I  had 
work  to  grip  the  edge  of  the  keg,  and  twine  my 
left  hand  tighter  in  her  mane  to  prevent  myself 
slipping  back  over  her  tail,  and  on  to  those  deadly 
hoofs.  Up  we  went,  the  loose  stones  flying  be- 
hind us  into  the  bushes  right  and  left.  Further 
behind  I  heard  the  scrambling  of  many  hoofs,  but 
whether  of  the  tub-carriers  or  the  troopers'  horses 
it  was  not  for  me  to  guess.  The  mare  knew,  how- 
ever, for  as  the  slope  grew  easier,  she  whinnied 
and  slackened  her  pace  to  give  them  time  to  come 
up.  This  also  gave  me  a  chance  to  shift  my  seat 
a  bit,  for  the  edges  of  the  kegs  were  nipping  my 
calves  cruelly.  The  beach  below  us  was  like  the 
wicked  place  in  a  priest's  sermon — black  as  pitch 
and  full  of  cursing — and  by  this  time  all  alive  with 
lanterns;  but  they  showed  us  nothing.  There  was 
no  more  firing,  though,  and  I  saw  no  lights  out  at 
sea,  so  I  hoped  my  father  had  managed  to  push 
off  and  make  for  the  lugger. 

We  were  now  on  a  grassy  down  at  the  head 

of  the  cliff,  and  my  mare,  after  starting  again  at 

204 


OF    A    SMALL   FEEE-TRADER 

a  canter  wliicli  rattled  me  abominably,  passed  into 
an  easy  gallop.  I  declare  that  except  for  my  fears 
— and  now,  as  the  chill  of  the  wind  bit  me,  I 
began  to  be  horribly  afraid — it  was  like  swinging 
in  a  hammock  to  the  pitch  of  a  weatherly  ship. 
I  was  not  in  dread  of  falling,  either;  for  her 
heels  fell  so  lightly  on  the  turf  that  they  persuaded 
all  fear  of  broken  bones  out  of  the  thought  of  fall- 
ing ;  but  I  was  in  desperate  dread  of  those  thunder- 
ing tub-carriers  just  behind,  who  seemed  to  come 
down  like  a  black  racing  wave  right  on  top  of  us, 
and  to  miss  us  again  and  again  by  a  foot  or  less. 
The  weight  of  them  on  this  wide,  empty  down — that 
was  the  nightmare  we  seemed  to  be  running  from. 
"We  passed  through  an  open  gate,  then  another; 
then  out  upon  hard  road  for  half-a-mile  or  so  (but 
I  can  tell  you  nothing  of  the  actual  distance  or 
the  pace),  and  then  through  a  third  gate.  All  the 
gates  stood  open;  had  been  left  so  on  purpose,  of 
course;  and  the  grey  granite  side-posts  were  my 
only  mile-stones  throughout  the  journey.  Every 
mortal  thing  was  strange  as  mortal  thing  could  be. 
Here  I  was,  in  a  foreign  land  I  had  never  seen 
in  my  life,  and  could  not  see  now;  on  horseback 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life;  and  going  the  dickens 
knew  whither,  at  the  dickens  knew  what  pace;  in 

much   certain   and   more  possible   danger;    alone, 

205 


SINGULAR  ADVENTURE 

and  without  speech  to  explam  myself  when — as  I 
supposed  must  happen  sooner  or  later — my  run- 
away fate  should  shoot  me  among  human  folk. 
And  overhead — this  seemed  the  oddest  thing  of 
all — shone  the  very  same  stars  that  were  used  to 
look  in  at  my  bedroom  window  over  Roscoff  quay. 
My  mother  had  told  me  once  that  these  were 
millions  of  miles  away,  and  that  people  lived  in 
them;  and  it  came  into  my  head  as  a  monstrous 
queer  thing  that  these  people  should  be  keeping 
me  in  view,  and  my  own  folk  so  far  away  and 
lost  to  me. 

But  the  stars,  too,  began  to  grow  faint;  and 
little  by  little  the  fields  and  country  took  shape 
around  us — plough,  and  grass,  and  plough  again; 
then  hard  road,  and  a  steep  dip  into  a  valley  where 
branches  met  over  the  lane  and  scratched  the  back 
of  my  head  as  I  ducked  it;  then  a  moorland  rising 
straight  in  front,  and  rounded  hills  with  the  day- 
light on  them.  And  as  I  saw  this,  we  were  dash- 
ing over  a  gTanite  bridge  and  through  a  white- 
washed street,  our  hoofs  drumming  the  villagers 
up  from  their  beds.  Faces  looked  out  of  windows 
and  were  gone,  like  scraps  of  a  dream.  But  just 
beyond  the  village  we  passed  an  old  labourer 
trudging  to  his  work,   and  he   jumped  into   the 

hedge  and  grinned  as  we  went  by. 

206 


OF   A   SMALL   FEEE-TRADER 

We  were  climbing  the  moor  now,  at  a  lopping 
gallop  that  set  the  packet  of  dolls  bob-bobbing  on 
my  back  to  a  sort  of  tune.  The  horses  behind 
were  nearly  spent,  and  the  sweat  had  worked  their 
soaped  hides  into  a  complete  lather.  But  the 
mare  generalled  them  all  the  while;  and  striking 
on  a  cart-track  beyond  the  second  rise  of  the  moor, 
slowed  down  to  a  walk,  wheeled  round  and  scanned 
the  troop.  As  they  struggled  up  she  whinnied 
loudly.  A  whistle  answered  her  far  do^\^l  the 
lane,  and  at  the  sound  of  it  she  was  off  again  like 
a  bird. 

The  track  led  down  into  a  hollow,  some  acres 
broad,  like  a  saucer  scooped  between  two  slopes 
of  the  moor;  and  in  the  middle  of  it — just  low 
enough  to  be  hidden  from  the  vallev  beneath — 
stood  a  whitewashed  farmhouse,  with  a  courtlege 
in  front  and  green-painted  gate;  and  by  this  gate 
three  persons  watched  us  as  we  came — a  man  and 
two  women. 

The  man  by  his  dress  was  plainly  a  farmer; 

and  catching  sight  of  me,  he  called  out  something 

I  could  not  understand,  and  turned  towards  the 

woman  beside  him,  whom  I  took  to  be  his  wife. 

But  the  other  woman,  who  stood  some  paces  away, 

was  a  very  different  person — tall  and  slight,  like  a 

lady;  gi-ey -haired,  and  yet  not  seeming  old;  with 

207 


SINGULAE   ADVENTUEE 

long  wliite  hands  and  tiny  liigh-lieeled  shoes,  and 
dressed  in  black  silk,  with  a  lace  shawl  crossed 
over  her  shoulders,  and  a  silver  whistle  hanging 
from  her  neck.  She  came  forward,  holding  out  a 
handful  of  sugar,  and  spoke  to  the  mare,  if  you'll 
believe  me,  in  my  very  own  Breton. 

"  Good  Lilith  !  "  said  she.  "  Ah,  what  a  mess 
for  me  to  groom  !  See  what  a  coat  !  Good 
Lilith  !  "  Then,  as  Lilith  munched  the  sugar — 
"  Who  are  you,  little  boy  ?  I  never  saw  you  be- 
fore.    Explain  yourself,  kindly,  little  boy." 

"My  name  is  Yann,"  said  I;  "  Yann  Riel.  I 
am  from  Roscoff,  and — O  how  tired,  ma- 
dame  !  " 

"  He  is  Breton  !  He  speaks  the  Breton  !  " 
She  clapped  her  hands,  drew  me  down  from  my 
seat,  and  kissed  me  on  both  cheeks. 

"  Yann,  you  shall  sleep  now — this  instant.  Tell 
me  only  how  you  came — a  word  or  two — that  I 
may  tell  the  farmer." 

So  I  did  my  best,  and  told  her  about  the  run, 
and  the  dragoons  on  the  beach,  and  how  I  came 
on  Lilith's  back.  "  "Wonderful,  wonderful  !  But 
how  came  she  to  allow  you  ?  " 

"That  I  know  not,  madame.  But  when  I 
spoke  to  her,  she  was  quiet  at  once." 

"  In  the   Breton — you   spoke   in   the  Breton  ? 

208 


OF   A   SMALL    FEEE-TRADER 

Yes,  yes,  that  explains — /  taught  her.  Dear 
Lilith  !  " 

She  patted  the  mare's  neck,  and  broke  off  to 
clap  her  hands  again  and  interpret  the  tale  to  the 
farmer  and  his  wife;  and  the  farmer  growled  a 
bit,  and  then  they  all  began  to  laugh. 

"  He  says  you  are  a  '  riimgo,'  and  you  had 
better  be  put  to  bed.  But  the  packet  on  your  back 
— your  night-shirt,  I  suppose  ?  You  have  man- 
aged it  all  so  complete,  Yann."  And  she  laughed 
merrily. 

"  It  holds  fifteen  little  wooden  dolls,"  said  I, 
"  jointed  at  the  knees  and  elbows ;  and  they  cost 
two  sols  apiece." 

"  My  little  dolls — you  clever  boy  !  O  you 
clever  little  boy  !  "  She  kissed  me  twice  again. 
"  Come,  and  you  shall  sleep,  and  then,  when  you 
wake,  you  shall  see." 

She  took  me  by  the  hand  and  hurned  me  into 

the  house,  and  upstairs  to  a  great  bedroom  wntli 

a  large  oaken  four-post  bed  in  it,  and  a  narrow 

wooden  bed  beside,  and  a  fire  lit,  and  an  arm-chair 

by  the  hearth.     The  four-post  bed  had  curtains  of 

green  damask,  all  closely  pinned  around  it,  and  a 

green  valance.     But  she  went  to  the  little  bed, 

which  was  hung  with  pink  dimity,  and  pulled  the 

white  sheets   out   of  it   and   replaced   thcni   with 

209 


SINGULAR   ADYENTUEE 

others  from  a  great  wardrobe  sunk  in  tlie  wall. 
And  while  I  sat  in  the  chair  by  the  fire,  munch- 
ing a  crust  of  bread  and  feeling  half  inclined  to 
cry  and  more  than  half  inclined  to  sleep,  she  left 
me,  and  returned  with  a  can  of  hot  water  and  a 
vast  night-shirt  of  the  farmer's,  and  bade  me 
good-night. 

"  Be  quick  and  undress,  little  one."  She 
turned  at  the  door.  "  The  tubs  are  all  in  hiding 
by  this  time.     Good-night,  Yann." 

I  believe  I  slept  as  soon  as  my  head  touched 
the  sweet-smelling  pillow;  and  I  must  have  slept 
the  round  of  the  clock  before  I  opened  my  eyes, 
for  the  room  was  now  bright  with  candles,  and  in 
the  arm-chair  by  the  fire  sat  the  Breton  lady  sew- 
ing as  if  for  dear  life. 

But  the  wonder  of  her  was  that  she  now  wore 
a  short  plain  dress  such  as  girls  wear  in  the  con- 
vent schools  in  Brittany,  and  her  gTcy  hair  was 
tied  just  like  a  gud's.  One  little  foot  rested  on 
the  brass  fender,  and  the  firelight  played  on  its 
silver  shoe-buckle. 

I  coughed,  to  let  her  know  that  I  was  awake, 
and  she  looked  across  and  nodded. 

"  Almost  ten  o'clock,  Yann,  and  time  for  you 

to  rise  and  have  supper.     And  after  supper — are 

you  sorry  ? — anotlier  journey  for  you.     At  mid- 
210 


OF    A    SMALL   FREE-TRADER 

iiif>lit  you  start  in  the  gig  with  Farmer  Ellory, 
who  will  drive  you  to  the  coast,  to  a  town  called 
Fowey,  where  some  friends  of  his  '  in  the  trade  ' 
arc  starting  for  Koscoff.  In  six  hours  you  will 
be  aboard  ship  again;  and  in  another  twenty,  per- 
haps, you  will  see  your  mother — and  your  father 
too,  if  he  escaped  clear  away.  In  little  more 
than  a  day  you  will  be  back  in  Brittany.  But 
first  you  must  lie  quite  still,  and  I  will  show  you 
something." 

"  To  be  sure  I  will,  madame." 

"  You  must  not  call  me  that.  I  am  the  Demoi- 
selle Heloise  Keranguin.  You  know  St.  Pol  de 
Leon,  Yann  ?  " 

"  Almost  as  well  as  my  own  town,  made- 
moiselle." 

"  And  the  Convent  of  the  Grey  N'uns,  on  the 
road  to  Morlaix,  a  little  beyond  the  town  ?  " 

It  was  on  my  tongue  to  tell  her  that  fire  and 
soldiery  had  wiped  it  even  with  the  ground,  dur- 
ing the  "  Terror."  But  she  interrupted  me. 
Setting  down  her  work-basket,  which  was  heaped 
high  witli  reels  and  parti  coloured  rags  of  silk, 
she  puslicd  a  small  table  over  to  the  big  bed  and 
loaded  it  with  candlesticks.  There  were  three 
candles   already   alight   in   the   room,   but  she  lit 

others   and  set  them   in   line — brass   candlesticks, 

211 


SINGULAR   ADVENTURE 

plated  candlesticks,  candlesticks  of  chinaware — 
fourteen  candlesticks  in  all,  and  fresh  candles  in 
eacli.  Laying  a  finger  on  lier  lip,  she  stepped  to 
the  big  bed  and  unfastened  the  corking-pins  v/hich 
held  the  green  curtains  together.  As  she  pushed 
the  curtains  back  I  lifted  myself  on  an  elbow. 

It  was  into  a  real  theatre  that  I  looked.  She 
had  transformed  the  whole  level  of  the  bed  into 
a  miniature  stage,  with  buildings  of  cardboard, 
cleverly  painted,  and  gardens  cut  out  of  silk  and 
velvet  and  laid  down,  and  rose-trees  gummed  on 
little  sticks,  and  a  fish-pond  and  brook  of  looking- 
glass,  with  embroidered  flowers  stuck  along  their 
edges,  and  along  the  paths  (of  real  sand)  a  score 
of  little  dolls  walking,  all  dressed  in  the  uniform 
of  the  Grey  Nuns.  I  declare  it  was  so  real,  you 
could  almost  hear  the  fountain  playing,  with  its  jet 
d'eau  of  transparent  beads  strung  on  an  invisible 
wire. 

"  But  how  pretty,  mademoiselle  !  "  I  cried. 

She  clasped  her  hands  nervously.  "  But  is  it 
like,  Yann  ?  It  is  so  long  ago  that  I  may  have 
forgotten.  Tell  me  if  it  is  like;  or  if  there  is  any- 
thing wrong.     I  promise  not  to  be  offended." 

"  It  is  exactly  like,  mademoiselle." 

"  See,  here  is  the  Mother  Superior;  and  this  is 

Soeur  Gabrielle.     I  have  to  make  the  dresses  full 

212 


OF   A    SMALL    FREE-TRADER 

and  stiff,  or  they  wouldn't  stand  up.  And  tliat, 
with  the  blue  eyes  is  Soeur  Hyacinthe.  She  walks 
with  me — this  is  I — as  she  always  did.  And 
what  do  you  think  ?  With  the  fifteen  dolls  that 
you  have  brought  I  am  going  to  have  a  real 
Pardon,  and  townspeople  and  fisher  people  to  stand 
and  worship  at  the  altar  of  the  Virgin,  there  in 
the  corner.  I  made  it  of  wax,  and  stamped  the 
face  with  a  seal  that  Charles  gave  me.  He  was 
to  have  been  my  husband  when  I  left  the  school." 

"  Indeed,  mademoiselle  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  the  soldiers  burnt  his  house.  It  was 
but  a  week  after  I  left  the  school,  and  the  Chateau 
Sant-Ervoan  lay  but  a  mile  from  my  mother's 
house.  He  fled  to  us,  wounded;  and  we  carried 
him  to  the  coast — there  was  a  price  on  his  head, 
and  we,  too,  had  to  flee — and  escaped  over  to 
England.     He  died  on  this  bed,  Yauii.     Look — " 

She  lifted  a  candle,  and  tlu^'c  on  the  bed's 
ledge  I  read,  in  gilt  lettering,  some  words  I  have 
never  forgotten,  though  it  was  not  until  years 
after  that  I  got  a  priest  to  explain  them  to  me. 
They    were     "  C.     De.     R.     Comes    et     Ecsul. 

MDCCXCIII." 

While  I  stared,  she  set  the  candle  down  again 

and  gently  drew  the  curtains  round  the  bed. 

"  Rise  now  and  dress,  dear  child,  or  your  sup- 

213 


SINGULAR   ADVENTURE 

per  will  be  cold  and  the  farmer  impatient.  You 
have  done  me  good.  Although  I  have  written 
the  farmer's  letters  for  him,  it  never  seemed  to 
me  that  I  wrote  to  living  people:  for  all  I  used 
to  know  in  Brittany,  ten  years  ago,  are  dead.  For 
the  future  I  shall  write  to  you." 

She  turned  at  the  door  as  she  said  this,  and 
that  was  the  last  I  ever  saw  of  her.  For  when  I 
passed  out  of  the  room,  dressed  and  ready  for  my 
journey,  it  was  quite  dark  on  the  landing,  where 
she  met  and  kissed  me.  Then  she  slipped  a  little 
packet  into  my  hand. 

"  For  the  dolls,"  she  said. 

In  the  kitchen  I  slipped  it  out  of  my  pocket 
and  examined  it  under  the  table's  edge.  It  was 
a  little  silver  crucifix,  and  I  have  kept  it  to  this 
day. 


214 


VIII 

THE    MYSTERY    OF    JOSEPH 
LAOUEDEM 

A  Jew^  unfortunately  slain  on  the  sands  of  Sheha  Cove,  in  the 
parish  of  Ruan  Lanihale,  August  15,  ISIO  :  or  so  much 
of  it  as  is  hereby  related  by  the  Rev .  Endymion  Trist,  B.D., 
then  vicar  of  that  parish,  in  a  letter  to  a  friend. 

My  dear  J. — You  are  right,  to  be  sure,  in  sup- 
posing that  I  know  more  than  my  neighbours  in 
Euan  Lanihale  concerning  the  unfortunate  young 
man,  Joseph  Laquedem,  and  more  than  I  care  to 
divulge;  in  particular  concerning  his  tragical  re- 
lations with  the  girl  Julia  Constantino,  or  July, 
as  she  was  commonly  called.  The  vulgar  knowl- 
edge amounts  to  little  more  than  this — that  Laque- 
dem, a  young  Hebrew  of  extraordinaiy  commer- 
cial gifts,  first  came  to  om-  parish  is  180Y  and 
settled  here  as  managing  secretary  of  a  privateer- 
ing company  at  Porthlooe;  that  by  his  aptitude 
and  daring  in  this  and  the  illicit  trade  he  amassed 

a  respectable  fortune,  and  at  length  opened  a  pri- 

215 


THE   MYSTEKY 

vate  bank  at  Porthlooe  and  issued  his  own  notes; 
that  on  August  15,  1810,  a  forced  "  run  "  which, 
against  his  custom,  he  was  personally  supervising, 
miscarried,  and  he  met  his  death  by  a  carbine- 
shot  on  the  sands  of  Shcba  Cove;  and,  lastly,  that 
his  body  was  taken  up  and  conveyed  away  by  the 
girl  Julia  Constantino,  under  the  fire  of  the  pre- 
ventive men. 

The  story  has  even  in  our  time  received  what 
I  may  call  some  fireside  embellishments;  but  these 
are  the  facts,  and  the  parish  knows  little  beyond 
them.  I  (as  you  conjecture)  know  a  great  deal 
more;  and  yet  there  is  a  sense  in  which  I  know 
nothing  more.  You  and  I,  my  old  friend,  have 
come  to  an  age  when  men  do  not  care  to  juggle 
with  the  mysteries  of  another  world,  but  knowing 
that  the  time  is  near  when  all  accounts  must  be 
rendered,  desire  to  take  stock  honestly  of  what  they 
believe  and  what  they  do  not.  And  here  lies  my 
difficulty.  On  the  one  hand  I  would  not  make 
public  an  experience  which,  however  honestly  set 
down,  might  mislead  others,  and  especially  the 
young,  into  rash  and  mischievous  speculations. 
On  the  other,  I  doubt  if  it  be  right  to  keep  total 
silence  and  withhold  from  devout  and  initiated 
minds   any   glimpse   of   truth,    or   possible   truth, 

vouchsafed  to  me.     As  the  Greek  said,  "  Plenty 

316 


OF  JOSEPH  LAQUEDEM 

are  the  thjrsus-bcarcrs,  but  few  the  ilhimlnate  "; 
and  among  these  few  I  may  surely  count  my  old 
friend. 

It  was  in  January  1807 — the  year  of  the 
abominable  business  of  Tilsit — that  my  church- 
warden, the  late  Mr.  Ephraim  Pollard,  and  I,  in 
cleaning  the  south  wall  of  Laniliale  Church  for  a 
fresh  coat  of  whitewash,  discovered  the  frescoes 
and  charcoal  drawings,  as  well  as  the  brass  plaque 
of  which  I  sent  you  a  tracing;  and  I  think  not 
above  a  fortnight  later  that,  on  your  suggestion, 
I  set  to  work  to  decipher  and  copy  out  the  old 
churchwardens'  accounts.  On  the  Monday  after 
Easter,  at  about  nine  o'clock  p.m.,  I  was  seated  in 
the  Vicarage  parlour,  busy  transcribing,  with  a 
couple  of  candles  before  mo,  when  my  house- 
keeper Frances  came  in  witli  n  \isiting-card,  and 
the  news  that  a  stranger  desired  to  speak  with 
me.  I  took  the  card  and  read  "  Mr.  Joseph  La- 
quedem  " 

"  Show  the  gentleman  in,"  said  I. 

Now  the  fact  is,  I  had  just  then  a  few  guineas 

in  my   chest,   and  you  know  what   a   price   gold 

fetched  in  1807.     I  dare  say  that  for  twelve  months 

together  the  most   of  my   parishioners  never  set 

eyes  on  a  piece,  and  any  that  came  along  quickly 

found  its  way  to  the  Jews.     People  said  that  Gov- 

217 


THE   MYSTERY 

ernment  was  buying  up  gold,  tlirough  the  Jews, 
to  send  to  the  armies.  I  know  not  the  degree  of 
truth  in  this,  but  I  had  some  five  and  twenty- 
guineas  to  dispose  of,  and  had  been  put  into  cor- 
respondence with  a  Mr.  Isaac  Laquedcm,  a  Jew 
residing  by  Plymouth  Dock,  whom  I  understood 
to  be  offering  256-.  Gd.  per  guinea,  or  a  trifle  above 
the  price  then  current. 

I  was  fingering  the  card  when  the  door  opened 
again  and  admitted  a  young  man  in  a  caped  over- 
coat and  tall  boots  bemired  high  above  the  ankles. 
He  halted  on  the  threshold  and  bowed. 

"  Mr.  ?  " 

"  JosejDh  Laquedem,"  said  he  in  a  pleasant 
voice. 

"  I  guess  your  errand,"  said  I,  "  though  it  was 
a  Mr.  Isaac  Laquedem  whom  I  expected.  Your 
father,  perhaps  ?  " 

He  bowed  again,  and  I  left  the  room  to  fetch 
my  bag  of  guineas.  "  You  have  had  a  dirty  ride," 
I  began  on  my  return. 

"  I  have  walked,"  he  answered,  lifting  a  muddy 
boot.     "  I  beg  you  to  pardon  these." 

"  What,   from  Torpoint  FeiTy  ?     And  in  this 

weather  ?     My  faith,  sir,  you  must  be  a  famous 

pedestrian  !  " 

He  made  no  reply  to  this,  but  bent  over  the 

318 


OF  JOSEPH  LAQUEDEM 

guineas,  fingering  them,  liolding  them  up  to  the 
candle-liglit,  testing  their  edges  with  his  thumbnail, 
and  finally  poising  them  one  by  one  on  the  tip  of 
his  forefinger. 

"  I  have  a  pair  of  scales,"  suggested  I. 

"  Thank  you,  I  too  have  a  pair  in  my  pocket. 
But  I  do  not  need  them.  The  guineas  are  good 
weight,  all  but  this  one,  which  is  possibly  a  couple 
of  grains  short." 

"  Surely  you  cannot  rely  on  your  hand  to  tell 
you  that  ? " 

His  eyebrows  went  up  as  he  felt  in  his  pocket 
and  produced  a  small  velvet-lined  case  containing 
a  pair  of  scales.  He  was  a  decidedly  handsome 
young  man,  with  dark  intelligent  eyes  and  a 
slightly  scornful — or  shall  I  say  ironical  ? — smile. 
I  took  particular  note  of  the  steadiness  of  his 
hand  as  he  adjusted  the  scales  and  weighed 
my  guinea. 

"  To  be  precise,"  he  announced,  "  1.898,  or 
practically  one  and  nine-tenths  short." 

"  I  should  have  thought,"  said  I,  fairly  as- 
tounded, "  a  lifetime  too  little  for  acquiring  such 
delicacy  of  sense  !  " 

He  seemed  to  ponder.     "  I  dare  say  you   are 

right,  sir,"  he  answered,  and  was  silent  again  until 

the  business  of  payment  was  concluded.     While 

219 


THE   MYSTEEY 

folding  the  receipt  he  added,  "  I  am  a  connoisseur 
of  coins,  sir,  and  not  of  tlieir  weight  alone." 

"  Antique,  as  well  as  modern  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  I,  "  you  may  be  able  to  tell 
me  something  about  this " :  and  going  to  my 
bureau  I  took  out  the  brass  plaque  which  Mr. 
Pollard  had  detached  from  the  planks  of  the 
church  wall.  "  To  be  sure,  it  scarcely  comes 
within  the  province  of  numismatics." 

He  took  the  plaque.  His  brows  contracted,  and 
presently  he  laid  it  on  the  table,  drew  my  chair 
towards  him  in  an  absent-minded  fashion,  and, 
sitting  down,  rested  his  brow  on  his  open  palms. 
I  can  recall  the  attitude  plainly,  and  his  bent  head, 
and  the  rain  still  glistening  in  the  waves  of  his 
black  hair. 

"  Where  did  you  find  this  ? "  he  asked,  but 
without  looking  up. 

I  told  him.  "  The  engraving  upon  it  is  singu- 
lar.    I  thought  that  possibly— " 

"  Oh,  that,"  said  he,  "  is  simplicity  itself.  An 
eagle  displayed,  with  two  heads,  the  legs  resting  on 
two  gates,  a  crescent  between,  an  imperial  crown 
surmounting — these  are  the  arras  of  the  Greek 
Empire,  the  two  gates  arc  Rome  and  Constanti- 
nople.    The  question  is,  how  it  came  where  you 

220 


OF  JOSEPH  LAQUEDEM 

found  it.  It  was  covered  with  plaster,  you  say, 
and  the  plaster  whitewashed  ?  Did  you  discover 
anything  near  it  'i  " 

Upon  this  I  told  him  of  the  frescoes  and  char- 
coal drawings,  and  roughly  described  them. 

His  fingers  began  to  drum  upon  the  table. 

"  Have  you  any  documents  which  might  tell  us 
when  the  wall  was  first  plastered  ?  " 

"  The  parish  accounts  go  back  to  1594 — here 
they  are:  the  Registers  to  1663  only.  I  keep 
them  in  the  vestrv.  I  can  find  no  mention  of 
plastering,  but  the  entries  of  expenditure  on  white- 
washing occur  periodically,  the  first  under  the 
year  1633."  I  turned  the  old  pages  and  pointed 
to  the  entry  "  Ite'  paide  to  George  mason  for  adayes 
ivorh  about  the  churche  after  the  Jeio  had  been,  and 
ivhite  loassche  i'  vj''." 

"  A  Jew  ?  But  a  Jew  had  no  business  in  Eng- 
land in  those  days.  I  wonder  how  and  why  he 
came."  My  visitor  took  the  old  volume  and  ran 
his  finger  down  the  leaf,  then  up,  then  turned 
back  a  page.  "  Perhaps  this  may  explain  it,"  said 
he.  "  Ite^  deliued  Mr.  Beuill  to  make  pulsion  for 
the  companie  of  a  fforeste  barhe  y*  came  ashoare 
iii»  iv''." 

He  broke  oif,  with  a  finger  on  the  entry,  and  rose. 

"Pray  forgive  me,  sir;  I  had  taken  your  chair." 

221 


THE   MYSTERY 

"  Don't  mention  it,"  said  I.  "  Indeed  I  was 
about  to  suggest  that  you  draw  it  to  the  fire  while 
Frances  brings  in  some  supper." 

To  be  short,  although  he  protested  he  must  push 
on  to  the  inn  at  Porthlooe,  I  persuaded  him  to  stay 
the  night;  not  so  much,  I  confess,  from  desire  of 
his  company,  as  in  the  hope  that  if  I  took  him  to 
see  the  frescoes  next  morning  he  might  help  me 
to  elucidate  their  history. 

I  remember  now  that  during  supper  and  after- 
wards my  guest  allowed  me  more  than  my  share  of 
the  conversation.  He  made  an  admirable  listener, 
quick,  courteous,  adaptable,  yet  with  something  in 
reserve  (you  may  call  it  a  facile  tolerance,  if  you 
will)  which  ended  by  irritating  me.  Young  men 
should  be  eager,  fervid,  suhlimis  cupidusque,  as  I 
was  before  my  beard  grew  stiff.  But  this  young 
man  had  the  air  of  a  spectator  at  a  play,  com- 
posing himself  to  be  amused.  There  was  too  much 
wisdom  in  him  and  too  little  emotion. 

We  did  not,  of  course,  touch  upon  any  religious 
question — indeed,  of  his  own  opinions  on  any  sub- 
ject he  disclosed  extraordinarily  little:  and  yet 
as  I  reached  my  bedroom  that  night  I  told  my- 
self that  here,  behind  a  mask  of  good  manners, 
was  one  of  those  perniciously  modern  young  men 

who   have   run   through    all    beliefs   by   the   age 

222 


OF  JOSEPH  LAQUEDEM 

of  twenty,  and  settled  down  tu  a  polite  but  weary 
atheism. 

I  fancy  tLat  under  the  shadow  of  tliis  suspicion 
my  own  manner  may  have  been  cold  to  him  next 
morning.  Almost  immediately  after  breakfast  we 
set  out  for  the  church.  The  day  was  sunny  and 
warm;  the  atmosphere  brilliant  after  the  niglit's 
rain.  The  hedges  exhaled  a  scent  of  spring. 
And,  as  we  entered  the  churchyard,  I  saw  the  girl 
Julia  Constantine  seated  in  her  favourite  angle 
between  the  porch  and  the  south  wall,  threading 
a  chain  of  daisies. 

"  What  an  amazingly  handsome  girl  !  "  my 
guest  exclaimed. 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  I,  "  she  has  her  good  looks, 
poor  soul  !  " 

"  Why  '  poor  soul '  ?  " 

"  She  is  an  imbecile,  or  nearly  so,"  said  I,  fitting 
the  key  in  the  lock. 

We  entered  the  church.     And  here  let  me  say 

that,  although  I  funiishcd  you  at  the  time  of  their 

discovery  with  a  description   of  the   frescoes  and 

the  ruder  drawings  which  overlay  them,  you  can 

scarcely    imagine   the   grotesque    and    astonishing 

coup  cfceil  presented  by  the  two  series.     To  begin 

with  the  frescoes,  or  original  series.     One,  as  you 

know,  represented  the  Crucifixion.     The  head  of 

233 


THE   MYSTEEY 

the  Saviour  bore  a  large  crown  of  gilded  thorns, 
and  from  the  wound  in  His  left  side  flowed  a  con- 
tinuous stream  of  red  gouts  of  blood,  extraordi- 
narily intense  in  colour  (and  intensity  of  colour  is 
no  common  quality  in  fresco-painting).  At  the 
foot  of  the  cross  stood  a  Roman  soldier,  with  two 
female  figures  in  dark-coloured  drapery  a  little  to 
the  right,  and  in  the  backgroimd  a  man  clad  in  a 
loose  dark  upper  coat,  which  reached  a  little  below 
the  knees. 

The  same  man  reappeared  in  the  second  picture, 
alone,  but  carrying  a  tall  staff  or  hunting  spear, 
and  advancing  up  a  road,  at  the  top  of  which  stood 
a  circular  building  with  an  arched  doorway  and, 
within  the  doorway,  the  head  of  a  lion.  The  jaws 
of  this  beast  were  open  and  depicted  with  the  same 
intense  red  as  the  Saviour's  blood. 

Close  beside  this,  but  further  to  the  east,  was 
a  large  ship,  under  sail,  which  from  her  slanting 
position  appeared  to  be  mounting  over  a  long  swell 
of  sea.  This  vessel  had  four  masts;  the  two  fore- 
most furnished  with  yards  and  square  sails,  the 
others  with  lateen-shaped  sails,  after  the  Greek 
fashion;  her  sides  were  decorated  with  six  gaily 
painted  bands  or  streaks,  each  separately  charged 
with  devices — a  golden  saltire  on  a  green  ground, 

a  white  crescent  on  a  blue,  and  so  forth;  and  each 

224 


OF  JOSEPH  LAQUEDEM 

masthead  bore  a  crown  with  a  flag  or  streamer 
fluttering  beneath. 

Of  the  frescoes  these  alone  were  perfect,  but 
fragments  of  others  were  scattered  over  the  wall, 
and  in  particular  I  must  mention  a  group  of  de- 
tached human  limbs  lying  near  the  ship — a  group 
rendered  conspicuous  by  an  isolated  right  hand  and 
arm  drawn  on  a  larger  scale  than  the  rest,  A 
gilded  circlet  adorned  the  arm,  which  was  flexed 
at  the  elbow,  the  hand  horizontally  placed,  the 
forefinger  extended  towards  the  west  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  picture  of  the  Crucifixion,  and  the 
thumb  shut  within  the  palm  beneath  the  other 
three  fingers. 

So  much  for  the  frescoes.  A  thin  coat  of 
plaster  had  been  laid  over  them  to  receive  the  sec- 
ond series,  which  consisted  of  the  most  disgusting 
and  fantastic  images,  traced  in  black.  One  of 
these  drawings  represented  Satan  himself — an  erect 
figure,  with  hairy  paws  clasped  in  a  supplicating 
posture,  thick  black  horns,  and  eyes  which  (for 
additional  horror)  the  artist  had  painted  red  and 
edged  with  a  circle  of  white.  At  his  feet  crawled 
the  hindermost  limb  of  a  peculiarly  loathsome 
monster  with  claws  stuck  in  the  soil.  Close  by  a 
nun  was  figured,  sitting  in  a  pensive  attitude,  her 

cheek  resting  on  the  back  of  her  hand,  her  elbow 

225 


THE   MYSTEEY 

supported  by  a  hideous  dwarf,  and  at  sonie  distance 
a  small  house,  or  prison,  with  barred  windows  and 
a  small  doorway  crossed  with  heavy  bolts. 

As  I  said,  this  upper  series  had  been  but  partially 
scraped  away,  and  as  my  guest  and  I  stood  at  a 
little  distance,  I  leave  you  to  imagine,  if  you  can, 
the  incongruous  tableau;  the  Prince  of  Darkness 
almost  touching  the  mourners  beside  the  cross;  the 
sorrowful  nun  and  grinning  dwarf  side  by  side 
w^ith  a  ship  in  full  sail,  which  again  seemed  to  be 
forcing  her  way  into  a  square  and  forbidding 
prison,  etc. 

Mr,  Laquedem  conned  all  this  for  some  while 
in  silence,  holding  his  chin  with  finger  and  thumb. 

"  And  it  was  here  you  discovered  the  plaque  ? " 
he  asked  at  length. 

I  pointed  to  the  exact  spot. 

"  H'm  !  "  he  mused,  "  and  that  ship  must  be 
Greek  or  Levantine  by  its  rig.  Compare  the 
crowns  on  her  masts,  too,  with  that  on  the  plaque 
.  .  ."  He  stepped  to  the  wall  and  peered  into 
the  frescoes.     "  ISTow  this  hand  and  arm " 

"  They  belong  to  me,"  said  a  voice  immediately 
behind  me,  and  turning,  I  saw  that  the  poor  girl 
had  followed  us  into  the  church. 

The  young  Jew  had  turned  also,  "  What  do 
you  mean  by  that  ?  "  he  asked  sharply. 

326 


OF  JOSEPH  LAQUEDEM 


iC 


She  means  notliino;,"  I  began,  and  made  as  if 
to  tap  my  forehead  significantly. 

"  Yes,  I  do  mean  something,"  she  persisted. 
"  They  belong  to  me.     I  remember " 

"  What  do  you  remember  ?  " 

Her  expression,  which  for  a  moment  had  been 
thonghtfnl,  wavered  and  changed  into  a  vague 
foolish  smile.  "  I  can't  tell  .  .  .  something 
.     .    .     it  was  sand,  I  think    .     .     ." 

"  Who  is  she  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Laquedcm. 

"  Her  name  is  Julia  Constantine,  Her  parents 
are  dead;  an  aunt  looks  after  her — a  sister  of  her 
mother's." 

He  turned  and  appeared  to  be  studying  the 
frescoes.  "  Julia  Constantine — an  odd  name,"  he 
muttered.  "  Do  you  know  anything  of  her  par- 
entage ?  " 

"  E'othing  except  that  her  father  was  a  labourer 
at  Sheba,  the  manor-farm.  The  family  has  be- 
longed to  this  parish  for  generations.  I  believe 
July  is  the  last  of  them." 

He  faced  round  upon  her  again.  "  Sand,  did 
you  say  ?  That's  a  strange  thing  to  remember. 
How  does  sand  come  into  your  mind  ?     Think, 


now." 


She  cast  down  her  eyes;  her  fingers  plucked  at 

the  daisy-chain.      After  a  while  she  shook  her  head. 

227 


THE   MYSTERY 

"  I  can't  tliiiik,"  she  answered,  glancing  up  timidly 
and  pitifully. 

"  Surely  we  are  wasting  time,"  I  suggested.  To 
tell  the  truth  I  disaj)proved  of  his  worrying  the 
poor  girl. 

He  took  the  daisy-chain  from  her,  looking  at  me 
the  while  with  something  between  a  "  by-your- 
leave  "  and  a  challenge.  A  smile  played  about  the 
corners  of  his  mouth. 

"  Let  us  waste  a  little  more."  He  held  up  the 
chain  before  her  and  began  to  sway  it  gently  to 
and  fro.  "  Look  at  it,  please,  and  stretch  out  your 
arm;  look  steadily.  Kow  your  name  is  Julia  Con- 
stantine,  and  you  say  that  the  arm  on  the  wall  be- 
longs to  you.     Why  ?  " 

"  Because  ...  if  you  please,  sir,  because 
of  the  mark." 

"  What  mark  ?  " 

"  The  mark  on  my  arm." 

This  answer  seemed  to  discompose  as  well  as  to 
surprise  him.  He  snatched  at  her  wrist  and  rolled 
back  her  sleeve,  somewhat  roughly,  as  I  thought. 
"  Look  here,  sir  !  "  he  exclaimed,  pointing  to  a 
thin  red  line  encircling  the  flesh  of  the  girl's  upper 
arm,  and  from  that  to  the  arm  and  armlet  in  the 
fresco. 

"  She  has  been  copymg  it,"   said  I,   "  with   a 

238 


striug  or  ribbon,  which  no  doubt  she  tied  too 
tightly." 

"  You  arc  mistaken,  sir;  this  is  a  birth- 
mark. You  have  had  it  always  ? "  he  asked  the 
girh 

She  nodded.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  his  face 
with  the  gaze  of  one  at  the  same  time  startled  and 
fascinated;  and  for  the  moment  he  too  seemed  to 
be  startled.  But  his  smile  came  back  as  he  picked 
up  the  daisy-chain  and  began  once  more  to  sway 
it  to  and  fro  before  her. 

"  And  when  that  arm  belonged  to  you,  there 
was  sand  around  you — eh  !  Tell  us,  how  did  the 
sand  come  there  ?  " 

She  was  silent,  staring  at  the  pendulum-swing 
of  the  chain.  "  Tell  us,"  he  repeated  in  a  low 
coaxing  tone. 

And  in  a  tone  just  as  low  she  began,  "  There 
was  sand  .  .  .  red  sand  ...  it  was  below 
me  .  .  .  and  something  above  .  .  .  some- 
thing like  a  great  tent."  She  faltered,  paused 
and  went  on,  "  There  were  thousands  of  people. 
.     .     ."     She  stopped. 

"  Yes,  yes — there  were  thousands  of  people  on 
the  sand " 

"  No,  they  were  not  on  the  sand.     There  were 

only  two  on  the  sand    .    .    .    the  rest  were  around 

229 


THE   MYSTERY 

.  .  .  under  the  tent  .  .  .  my  arm  was  out 
.     .     .     just  like  this.     .     .     ." 

The  young  man  put  a  hand  to  his  forehead. 
"  Good  Lord  !  "  I  heard  him  say,  "  the  amj)hi- 
theatre  !  " 

"  Come,  sir,"  I  interrupted,  "  I  think  we  have 
had  enough  of  this  jugglery." 

But  the  girl's  voice  went  on  steadily  as  if  re- 
peating a  lesson: — 

"  And  then  you  came — " 

"I!''  His  voice  rang  sharply,  and  I  saw  a 
horror  dawn  in  his  eyes,  and  grow.     "  I  !  " 

"  And  then  you  came,"  she  repeated,  and  broke 
off,  her  mind  suddenly  at  fault.  Automatically 
he  began  to  sway  the  daisy-chain  afresh.  "  We 
were  on  board  a  ship  ...  a  funny  ship  .  .  . 
with  a  great  high  stern.     .     .     ." 

"  Is  this  the  same  story  ? "  he  asked,  lowering 
his  voice  almost  to  a  whisper;  and  I  could  hear 
his  breath  going  and  coming. 

"  I  don't  know  .  .  .  one  minute  I  see  clear, 
and  then  it  all  gets  mixed  up  again  .  .  .  we 
were  up  there,  stretched  on  deck,  near  the  tiller 
.  .  .  another  ship  was  chasing  us  .  .  .  the 
men  began  to  row,  with  long  sweeps.     .     .     ." 

"  But    the    sand,"    he    insisted,    "  is    the    sand 

there  ?  " 

230 


OF  JOSEPH  LAQUEDEM 

"  The  sand  ?  .  .  .  Yes,  I  see  the  sand  again 
.  .  .  we  are  standing  upon  it  .  .  .  we  and 
the  crew  .  .  .  the  sea  is  close  behind  us  .  .  . 
some  men  have  hold  of  me  .  .  .  they  are  try- 
ing to  pull  me  away  from  you.    .    .    .    Ah  ! " 

And  I  declare  to  you  that  witli  a  sob  the  poor 
girl  dropped  on  her  knees,  there  in  the  aisle,  and 
clasped  the  young  man  about  the  ankles,  bowing 
her  forehead  upon  the  insteps  of  his  high  boots. 
As  for  him,  I  cannot  hope  to  describe  his  face  to 
you.  There  was  something  more  in  it  than  won- 
der— something  more  than  dismay,  even — at  the 
success  of  his  unhallowed  experiment.  It  was  as 
though,  having  prepared  himself  light-heartedly  to 
witness  a  play,  he  was  seized  and  terrified  to  find 
himself  the  principal  actor.  I  never  saw  ghastlier 
fear  on  human  cheeks. 

"  For  God's  sake,  sir,"  I  cried^  stamping  my 
foot,  "  relax  your  cursed  spells  !  Relax  them  and 
leave  us  !     This  is  a  house  of  prayer." 

He  put  a  hand  under  the  girl's  chin,  and,  rais- 
ing her  face,  made  a  pass  or  two,  still  with  the 
daisy-chain  in  his  hand.  She  looked  about  her, 
shivered  and  stood  erect.  "  Where  am  I  ? "  she 
asked.  "  Did  I  fall  ?  What  are  you  doing  with 
my  chain  ?  "     She  had  relapsed  into  her  habitual 

childishness  of  look  and  speech. 

231 


THE   MYSTEEY 

I  hurried  tlioin  from  tlie  church,  resolutely 
locked  the  door,  and  marched  up  the  path  without 
deigning  a  glance  at  the  young  man.  But  I 
had  not  gone  fifty  yards  when  he  came  running 
after. 

"  I  entreat  you,  sir,  to  pardon  me.  I  should 
have  stopped  the  experiment  before.  But  I  was 
startled — thrown  off  my  balance.  I  am  telling 
you  the  truth,  sir  !  " 

"  Very  likely,"  said  I.  "  The  like  has  hap- 
pened to  other  rash  meddlers  before  you." 

"  I  declare  to  you  I  had  no  thought "  he 

began.     But  I  interrupted  him: 

"  '  JSTo  thought,'  indeed  !  I  bring  you  here  to 
resolve  me,  if  you  can,  a  curious  puzzle  in  archae- 
ology, and  you  fall  to  inlaying  devil's  pranks  upon 
a  half-wtted  child.  '  'No  thought  !  ' — I  believe 
vou,  sir." 

"  And  yet,"  he  muttered,  "  it  is  an  amazing 
business:  the  sand — the  velarium — the  out- 
stretched arm  and  hand — pollice  compresso — the 
exact  gesture  of  the  gladiatorial  shows " 

"  Are  you  telling  me,  pray,  of  gladiatorial 
shows  under  the  Eastern  Empire  ?  "  I  demanded 
scornfully. 

"Certainly  not:    and  that,"  he  mused,   "only 

makes  it  the  more  amazing." 

232 


OF  JOSEPH  LAQUEDEM 

"  Now,  look  here,"  said  I,  halting  in  the  middle 
of  the  road,  "  I'll  hear  no  more  of  it.  Here  is 
my  gate,  and  there  lies  the  highroad,  on  to  Porth- 
looe  or  back  to  Plymouth,  as  you  please.  I  \vish 
you  good  morning,  sir;  and  if  it  be  any  consola- 
tion to  you,  you  have  spoiled  my  digestion  for  a 
week." 

I  am  bound  to  say  the  young  man  took  his 
dismissal  with  grace.  He  halted  then  and  there 
and  raised  his  hat;  stood  for  a  moment  ponder- 
ing; and,  turning  on  his  heel,  walked  quickly  off 
towards  Porthlooe. 

It  must  have  been  a  week  before  I  learnt  casu- 
ally that  he  had  obtained  employment  there  as 
secretary  to  a  small  company  owning  the  Lord 
Nelson  and  the  Iland-in-hand  privateers.  His 
success,  as  you  know,  was  rapid;  and  naturally  in 
a  gossiping  parish  I  heard  about  it — a  little  here, 
a  little  there — in  all  a  great  deal.  He  had  bought 
the  Providence  schooner;  he  had  acted  as  freighter 
for  Minards'  men  in  their  last  run  with  the 
Morning  Star;  he  had  slipj)ed  over  to  Cork  and 
brought  home  a  Porthlooe  prize  illegally  detained 
there;  he  was  in  London,  fighting  a  salvage  case 
in  the  Admiralty  Court;  and  so  forth.  "Within 
twelve  months  he  was  accountant  of  every  "  trad- 
ing "   company   in   Porthlooe,   and   agent   for  re- 

233 


THE   MYSTERY 

ceiving  the  moneys  due  to  the  Guernsey  mer- 
chants. In  1809,  as  you  know,  he  opened  his 
bank  and  issued  notes  of  his  own.  And  a  year 
later  he  acquired  two  of  the  best  farms  in  the 
parish,  Tresawl  and  Killifreeth,  and  held  the  fee 
simple  of  the  liarbour  and  quays. 

During  the  first  two  years  of  his  prosperity  I 
saw  little  of  the  man.  We  passed  each  other  from 
time  to  time  in  the  street  of  Porthlooe,  and  he 
accosted  me  's\nth  a  politeness  to  which,  though 
distrusting  him,  I  felt  bound  to  respond.  But  he 
never  offered  conversation,  and  our  next  inter- 
view was  wholly  of  my  seeking. 

One  evening  towards  the  close  of  his  second 
year  at  Porthlooe,  and  about  the  date  of  his  pur- 
chase of  the  Providence  schooner,  I  happened  to 
be  walking  homewards  from  a  visit  to  a  sick  pa- 
rishioner, when  at  Cove  Bottom,  by  the  miller's 
footbridge,  I  passed  two  figures — a  man  and  a 
woman  standing  there  and  conversing  in  the 
dusk.  I  could  not  help  recognising  them;  and 
halfway  up  the  hill  I  came  to  a  sudden  resolu- 
tion, and  turned  back. 

"  Mr.  Laquedem,"  said  I,  approaching  them, 
"  I  put  it  to  you,  as  a  man  of  education  and  de- 
cent feeling,  is  this  quite  honourable  ?  " 

"  I    believe,     sir,"     he     answered     courteously 

234 


OF  JOSEPH  LAQUEDEM 

enonc;!!,   "  I   can   convince   you   that   it   is.     But 
clearly  this  is  neither  the  time  nor  the  place." 

"  You  must  excuse  me,"  I  went  on,  "  but  I 
have  known  Julia  since  she  was  a  child." 

To  this  he  made  an  extraordinary  answer.  "  I^o 
longer  ?  "  he  asked ;  and  added,  with  a  change  of 
tone,  "  Had  you  not  forbidden  me  the  vicarage, 
sir,  I  might  have  something  to  say  to  you." 

"  If  it  concern  the  girl's  spiritual  welfare — or 
yours — I  shall  be  happy  to  hear  it." 

''  In  that  case,"  said  he,  "  I  will  do  myself  the* 
pleasure  of  calling  upon  you — shall  we  say  to- 
morrow evening  ?  " 

He  was  as  good  as  his  word.  At  nine  o'clock 
next  evening — about  the  hour  of  his  former  visit 
— Frances  ushered  him  into  my  parlour.  The 
similaritv  of  circumstance  mav  have  suggested  to 
me  to  draw  the  comparison;  at  any  rate  I  ob- 
served then  for  the  first  time  that  rapid  ageing  of 
his  features  which  aftcnvards  became  a  matter  of 
common  remark.  The  face  was  no  longer  that  of 
the  young  man  who  had  entered  my  parlour  two 
years  before;  already  some  streaks  of  grey  showed 
in  his  black  locks,  and  he  seemed  even  to  move 
wearily. 

"  I   fear  you   are   unwell,"   said   I,    offering   a 

chair. 

235 


THE   MYSTEEY 

"  I  have  reason  to  believe/'  lie  answered,  "  that 
I  am  dying."  And  then,  as  I  nttered  some  ex- 
pression of  dismay  and  concern,  he  cut  me  short. 
"  Oh,  there  will  be  no  hurry  about  it  !  I  mean, 
perhaps,  no  more  than  that  all  men  carry  about 
with  them  the  seeds  of  their  mortality — so  why 
not  I  ?  But  I  came  to  talk  of  Julia  Constantine, 
not  of  myself." 

"  You  may  guess,  Mr.  Laquedem,  that  as  her 
vicar,  and  having  known  her  and  her  affliction  all 
her  life,  I  take  something  of  a  fatherly  interest 
in  the  girl," 

"  And  having  known  her  so  long,  do  you 
not  begin  to  observe  some  change  in  her,  of 
late  ?  " 

"  Why,  to  be  sure,"  said  I,  "  she  seems  brighter." 

He  nodded.  "/  have  done  that;  or  rather, 
love  has  done  it." 

"  Be  careful,  sir  !  "  I  cried.  "  Be  careful  of 
what  you  are  going  to  tell  me  !  If  you  have  in- 
tended or  wrought  any  harm  to  that  girl,  I  tell 
you  solemnly " 

But  he  held  up  a  hand.  "  Ah,  sir,  be  char- 
itable !  T  tell  you  solemnly  our  love  is  not  of 
that  kind.  We  who  have  loved,  and  lost,  and 
sought  each  other,  and  loved  again  through  cen- 
turies,   have    outlearned    that    rougher    passion. 

23G 


OF  JUSEPU  LAQUEDEM 

AVlien  she  was  a  princess  of  Rome  and  I  a  Chris- 
tian Jew  led  forth  to  the  lions " 

I  stood  up,  grasping  the  back  of  my  chair  and 
staring.  At  last  I  knew.  This  young  man  was 
stark  mad. 

He  read  my  conviction  at  once.  "  I  think, 
sir,"  he  went  on,  changing  his  tone,  "  the  learned 
antiquary  to  whom,  as  you  told  me,  you 
were  sending  your  tracing  of  the  plaque,  has 
by  this  time  replied  with  some  information 
about  it." 

Relieved  at  this  change  of  subject,  I  answered 
quietly  (while  considering  how  best  to  get  him 
out  of  the  house),  "  My  friend  tells  me  that  a 
similar  design  is  found  in  Landulph  Church,  on 
the  tomb  of  Theodore  Paleologus,  who  died  in 
163G." 

"  Precisely;  of  Theodore  PaleologTis,  descendant 
of  the  Constantines." 

I  began  to  grasp  his  insane  meaning.  "  The 
race,  so  far  as  we  know,  is  extinct,"  said  I. 

"  The  race  of  the  Constantines,"  said  he  slowly 

and  composedly,  "is  never  extinct;  and  while  it 

lasts,  the  soul  of  Julia  Constantine  will  come  to 

birth    again    and    know    the    soul    of    the    Jew, 

until " 

I  waited. 

237 


THE   MYSTERY 


<c 


— Until  their  love  lifts  the  curse,  and  the 
Jew  can  die." 

"  This  is  mere  madness,"  said  I,  my  tongue 
blurting  it  out  at  length. 

"  I  expected  you  to  say  no  less.  Now  look 
you,  sir — in  a  few  minutes  I  leave  you,  I  walk 
home  and  spend  an  hour  or  two  before  bedtime 
in  adding  figures,  balancing  accounts;  to-morrow 
I  rise  and  go  about  my  daily  business  cheerfully, 
methodically,  always  successfully.  I  am  the  long- 
headed man,  making  money  because  I  know  how 
to  make  it,  respected  by  all,  with  no  trace  of  mad- 
ness in  me.  You,  if  you  meet  me  to-morrow, 
shall  recognise  none.  Just  now  you  are  forced  to 
believe  me  mad.  Believe  it  then;  but  listen  while 
I  tell  you  this: — When  Rome  was,  I  was;  when 
Constantinople  was,  I  was.  I  was  that  Jew 
rescued  from  the  lions.  It  was  I  who  sailed  from 
the  Bosphorus  in  that  ship,  with  Julia  beside  me; 
I  from  whom  the  Moorish  pirates  tore  her,  on  the 
beach  beside  Tetuan;  I  who,  centuries  after,  drew 
those  obscene  figures  on  the  wall  of  your  church — 
the  devil,  the  nun,  and  the  barred  convent — when 
Julia,  another  Julia  but  the  same  soul,  was  denied 
to  me  and  forced  into  a  nunnery.  Eor  the  fres- 
coes, too,  tell  my  history.     I  was  that  figure  in 

the  dark  habit,   standing  a  little   back  from   the 

238 


OF  JOSEPH  LAQUEDEM 

cross.  Tell  me,  sir,  did  you  never  hear  of  Joseph 
Kartophiliis,  Pilate's  porter  ?  " 

I  saw  that  I  must  humour  him.  "  I  have  heard 
his  legend,"  said  I;*  "  and  have  understood  that 
in  time  he  became  a  Christian." 

He  smiled  wearily.  "  He  has  travelled  through 
many  creeds;  but  he  has  never  travelled  beyond 
Love.  And  if  that  love  can  be  purified  of  all 
passion  such  as  you  suspect,  he  has  not  travelled 
beyond  forgiveness.  Many  times  I  have  known 
her  who  shall  save  me  in  the  end;  and  now  in  the 
end  I  have  found  her  and  shall  be  able,  at  length, 
to  die;  have  found  her,  and  with  her  all  my  dead 
loves,  in  the  body  of  a  girl  wdiom  you  call  half- 
witted— and  shall  be  able,  at  length,  to  die." 

And  with  this  he  bent  over  the  table,  and,  rest- 
ing his  face  on  his  arms,  sobbed  aloud.  I  let  him 
sob  there  for  a  while,  and  then  touched  his  shoul- 
der gently. 

He  raised  his  head.  "  Ah,"  said  he,  in  a  voice 
which  answered  the  gentleness  of  my  touch,  "  you 
remind  me  !  "  And  with  that  he  deliberately 
slipped  his  coat  off  his  left  arm   and,   rolling  up 

*  The  legend  is  that  as  Christ  left  tlie  judgment  hall  on  Ilis 
way  to  Calvary,  Kartophilus  smote  Tlini.  saying,  "  Man,  go 
quicker!"  and  was  answered,  "  I  indeed  go  quickly;  but  thou 
Shalt  tarry  till  I  come  again." 

239 


THE   MYSTEEY 

the  shirt  sleeve,  bared  the  arm  almost  to  the 
shoulder.  "  I  want  you  close,"  he  added  with 
half  a  smile;  for  I  have  to  confess  that  during  the 
process  I  had  backed  a  couple  of  paces  towards 
the  door.  He  took  up  a  candle,  and  held  it  while 
I  bent  and  examined  the  thin  red  line  which  ran 
like  a  circlet  around  the  flesh  of  the  upper  arm 
just  below  the  apex  of  the  deltoid  muscle.  When 
I  looked  up  I  met  his  eyes  challenging  mine 
across  the  flame. 

"  Mr.  Laquedem,"  I  said,  "  my  conviction  is 
that  you  are  possessed  and  are  being  misled  by  a 
grievous  hallucination.  At  the  same  time  I  am 
not  fool  enough  to  deny  that  the  union  of  flesh 
and  spirit,  so  passing  mysterious  in  everyday  life 
(when  we  pause  to  think  of  it),  may  easily  hold 
mysteries  deeper  yet.  The  Church  Catholic, 
whose  servant  I  am,  has  never  to  my  knowledge 
denied  this;  yet  has  providentially  made  a  rule  of 
St.  Paul's  advice  to  the  Colossians  against  intrud- 
ing into  those  things  which  she  hath  not  seen. 
In  the  matter  of  this  extraordinary  belief  of  yours 
I  can  give  you  no  such  comfort  as  one  honest 
man  should  offer  to  another:  for  I  do  not  share 
it.  But  in  the  more  practical  matter  of  your  con- 
duct towards  July  Constantine,  it  may  help  you 

to   know   that   I   have   accepted   your   word    and 

240 


OF  JOSEPH  LAQUEDEM 
propose   henceforward   to   trust  you   as   a   gentle- 


man." 


"  I  thank  you,  sir/'  he  said,  as  he  slipped  on 
his  coat.     "  May  I  have  your  hand  on  that  ?  " 

"  With  pleasure,"  I  answered,  and,  having 
shaken  hands,  conducted  him  to  the  door. 

From  that  day  the  affection  between  Joseph 
Laquedem  and  July  Constantino,  and  their  fre- 
quent companionship,  were  open  and  avowed. 
Scandal  there  was,  to  be  sure;  but  as  it  blazed  up 
like  straw,  so  it  died  down.  Even  the  women 
feared  to  sharpen  their  tongues  openly  on  Laque- 
dem, who  by  this  time  held  the  purse  of  the  dis- 
trict, and  to  offend  whom  might  mean  an  empty 
skivet  on  Saturday  night.  July,  to  be  sure,  was 
more  tempting  game;  and  one  day  her  lover  found 
her  in  the  centre  of  a  knot  of  women  fringed  by 
a  dozen  children  with  open  mouths  and  ears.  He 
stepped  forward.  "  Ladies,"  said  he,  "  the  dif- 
ficulty which  vexes  you  cannot,  I  feci  sure,  be 
altogether  good  for  your  small  sons  and  daughters. 
Let  me  put  an  end  to  it."  He  bent  forward  and 
reverently  took  July's  hand.  "  My  dear,  it  ap- 
pears that  the  depth  of  my  respect  for  you  will 
not  be  credited  by  these  ladies  unless  I  offer  you 

marriage.     And  as  I  am  proud  of  it,  so  forgive 

241 


THE   MYSTERY 

me  if  I  put  it  beyond  their  doubt.  Will  you 
marry  me  ? "  July,  blushing  scarlet,  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands,  but  shook  her  head. 
There  was  no  mistaking  the  gesture:  all  the 
women  saw  it.  "  Condole  with  me,  ladies  !  "  said 
Laquedem,  lifting  his  hat  and  including  them  in 
an  ironical  bow;  and  placing  July's  arm  in  his, 
escorted  her  away. 

I  need  not  follow  the  liistory  of  their  intimacy, 
of  which  I  saw,  indeed,  no  more  than  my  neigh- 
bours. On  two  points  all  accounts  of  it  agree: 
the  rapid  ageing  of  the  man  during  this  period 
and  the  improvement  in  the  poor  girl's  intellect. 
Some  profess  to  have  remarked  an  equally  vehe- 
ment heightening  of  her  beauty;  but,  as  my  recol- 
lection serves  me,  she  had  always  been  a  hand- 
some maid;  and  I  set  down  the  transfiguration — 
if  such  it  was — entirely  to  the  dawn  and  growth 
of  her  reason.  To  this  I  can  add  a  curious  scrap 
of  evidence.  I  was  walking  along  the  cliff  track, 
one  afternoon,  between  Porthlooe  and  Lanihale 
church-town,  when,  a  few  yards  ahead,  I  heard  a 
man's  voice  declaiming  in  monotone  some  sen- 
tences whicli  I  could  not  catch;  and  rounding  the 
corner,  came  upon  Laquedem  and  July.  She  was 
seated  on  a  rock;  and  he,  on  a  patch  of  turf  at 

her  feet,  held  open  a  small  vohmie  which  he  laid 

242 


OF  JOSEPH  LAQUEDEM 

face  downwards  as  he  rose  to  greet  me.  I 
glanced  at  the  back  of  the  book  and  saw  it  was  a 
volume  of  Euripides.  I  made  no  comment,  how- 
ever, on  this  small  discovery;  and  whether  he  had 
indeed  taught  the  girl  some  Greek,  or  whether 
she  merely  listened  for  the  sake  of  hearing  his 
voice,  I  am  unable  to  say. 

Let  me  come  then  to  the  last  scene,  of  which 
I  was  one  among  many  spectators. 

On  the  morning  of  August  15th,  1810,  and 
just  about  daybreak,  I  was  awakened  by  the 
sound  of  horses'  hoofs  coming  down  the  road  be- 
yond the  vicarage  gate.  My  ear  told  me  at  once 
that  they  were  many  riders  and  moving  at  a  trot; 
and  a  minute  later  the  jingle  of  metal  gave  me  an 
inkling  of  the  truth.  I  hurried  to  the  window 
and  pulled  up  the  blind.  Day  was  breaking  on  a 
grey  drizzle  of  fog  which  drove  up  from  seaward, 
and  through  this  drizzle  I  caught  sight  of  the  last 
five  or  six  scarlet  plumes  of  a  troop  of  dragoons 
jogging  down  the  hill  past  my  bank  of  laurels. 

Now  our  parish  had  stood  for  some  week?  in 

apprehension  of  a  visit  from  these  gentry.     The 

riding-officer,  IMr.  Luke,  had  threatened  us  with 

them  more  than  once.     I  knew,  moreover,  that  a 

run    of    goods    was    contemplated:     and    without 

questions  of  mine — it   did   not   become   a   parish 

243 


THE   MYSTERY 

priest  in  those  days  to  know  too  much — it  had 
reached  my  ears  that  Laquedem  was  himself  in 
Roscoff  bargaining  for  the  freight.  But  we  had 
all  learnt  confidence  in  him  by  this  time — his  in- 
creasing bodily  weakness  never  seemed  to  affect 
his  cleverness  and  resource — and  no  doubt  occurred 
to  me  that  he  would  contrive  to  checkmate  this 
new  move  of  the  riding-officer's.  Nevertheless, 
and  partly  I  dare  say  out  of  curiosity,  to  have  a 
good  look  at  the  soldiers,  I  slipped  on  my  clothes 
and  hurried  downstairs  and  across  the  garden. 

My  hand  was  on  the  gate  when  I  heard  foot- 
steps, and  July  Constantine  came  running  down 
the  hill,  her  red  cloak  flapping  and  her  hair  pow- 
dered with  mist. 

"  Hullo  !  "  said  I,  "  nothing  wrong,  I  hope  ?  " 

She  turned  a  white,  distraught  face  to  me  in 
the  dawn. 

"  Yes,  yes  !  All  is  wrong  !  I  saw  the  soldiers 
coming — I  heard  them  a  mile  away,  and  sent  up 
the  rocket  from  tHe  church-tower.  But  the  lugger 
stood  in — they  must  have  seen  ! — she  stood  in, 
and  is  right  under  Sheba  Point  now — and  he " 

I  whistled.  "  This  is  serious.  Let  us  run  out 
towards  the  point;  we — you,  I  mean — may  be  in 
time  to  warn  them  yet." 

So  we  set  off  running  together.     The  morning 

244 


OF  JOSEPH  LAQUEDEM 

breeze  had  a  cold  edge  on  it,  but  already  the  sun 
had  begun  to  wrestle  with  the  bank  of  sea-fog. 
While  we  hurried  along  the  cliffs  the  shoreward 
fringe  of  it  was  ripped  and  rolled  back  like  a  tent- 
cloth,  and  through  the  rent  I  saw  a  broad  patch 
of  the  cove  below;  the  sands  (for  the  tide  was  at 
low  ebb)  shining  like  silver;  the  dragoons  with 
their  greatcoats  thrown  back  from  their  scarlet 
breasts  and  their  accoutrements  flashing  against 
the  level  rays.  Seaward,  the  lugger  loomed 
through  the  weather;  but  there  was  a  crowd  of 
men  and  black  boats — half  a  score  of  them — by 
the  water's  edge,  and  it  was  clear  to  me  at  once 
that  a  forced  run  had  been  at  least  attempted. 

I  had  pulled  up,  panting,  on  the  verge  of  the 
cliff,  when  July  caught  me  by  the  arm. 

''The  sand!'' 

She  pointed;  and  well  I  remember  the  gesture 
— the  very  gesture  of  the  hand  in  the  fresco — 
the  forefinger  extended,  the  thumb  shut  within 
the  palm.     "  The  sand    ...    he  told  me    .    .    ." 

Her    eyes    were    wide    and    fixed.     She    spoke, 

not  excitedly   at  all,   but   rather   as   one  musing, 

much    as    she    had    answered    Laquedcm    on    the 

morning  when  he  waved  the  daisy-chain  before 

her. 

I  heard  an  order  shouted,  high  up  the  beach, 

245 


THE   MYSTERY 

and  the  dragoons  came  charging  down  across  the 
sand.  There  was  a  scuffle  close  by  the  water's 
edge;  then,  as  the  sokliers  broke  through  the  mob 
of  free-traders  and  wheeled  their  horses  round, 
fetlock  deep  in  the  tide,  I  saw  a  figure  break  from 
the  crowd  and  run,  but  presently  check  himself 
and  walk  composedly  towards  the  cliff  up  which 
climbed  the  footpath  leading  to  Porthlooe.  And 
above  the  hubbub  of  oaths  and  shouting,  I  heard 
a  voice  crying  distinctly,  "  Run,  man  !  'Tis  after 
thee  they  arc  !     Man,  go  faster!  " 

Even  then,  had  he  gained  the  cliff-track,  he 
might  have  escaped;  for  up  there  no  horseman 
could  follow.  But  as  a  trooper  came  galloping  in 
pursuit,  he  turned  deliberately.  There  was  no 
defiance  in  his  attitude;  of  that  I  am  sure.  What 
followed  must  have  been  mere  blundering  ferocity. 
I  saw  a  jet  of  smoke,  heard  the  sharp  crack  of  a 
firearm,  and  Joseph  Laquedem  flung  up  his  arms 
and  pitched  forward  at  full  length  on  the  sand. 

The  rejDort  woke  the  girl  as  with  the  stab  of 

a  knife.     Her  cry — it  pierces  through  my  dreams 

at   times — rang  back   with    the   echoes   from   the 

rocks,   and   before   they   ceased   she   was  halfway 

down  the  clifFside,  springing  as  surely  as  a  goat, 

and,  where  she  found  no  foothold,  clutching  the 

grass,   the   rooted   samphires   and   sea   pinks,    and 

246 


OF  JOSEPH  LAQUEDEM 

sliding.  While  my  head  swam  with  the  sight  of 
it,  she  was  running  across  the  sands,  was  kneeling 
beside  the  body,  had  risen,  and  was  staggering 
under  the  weight  of  it  down  to  the  water's  edge. 

"  Stop  her  !  "  shouted  Luke,  the  riding-officer. 
"  "We  must  have  the  man  !  Dead  or  alive,  we 
must  have'n  !  " 

She  gained  the  nearest  boat,  the  free-traders 
forming  up  around  her,  and  hustling  the  dragoons. 
It  was  old  Solomon  Tweedy's  boat,  and  he,  pru- 
dent man,  had  taken  advantage  of  the  skirmish  to 
ease  her  off,  so  that  a  push  would  set  her  afloat. 
He  asserts  that  as  July  came  up  to  him  she  never 
uttered  a  word,  but  the  look  on  her  face  said 
"  Push  me  off,"  and  though  he  was  at  that  mo- 
ment meditating  his  own  escape,  he  obeyed  and 
pushed  the  boat  off  "  like  a  mazed  man."  I  may 
add  that  he  spent  three  months  in  Bodmin  Gaol 
for  it. 

She  dropped  with  her  burden  against  the  stern 
sheets,  but  leapt  up  instantly  and  had  the  oars 
between  the  thole-pins  almost  as  the  boat  floated. 
She  pulled  a  dozen  strokes,  and  hoisted  the  main- 
sail, pulled  a  hundred  or  so,  sprang  forward  and 
ran  up  the  jib.  All  this  \vliil<'  tlio  preventive  men 
were  straining  to  get  off  two  boats  in  pursuit;  but, 

as  you  may  guess,  the  free-traders  did  nothing  to 

347 


THE   MYSTERY 

help  and  a  great  deal  to  impede.  And  first  the 
crews  tumbled  in  too  hurriedly,  and  had  to  climb 
out  again  (looking  very  foolish)  and  push  afresh, 
and  then  one  of  the  boats  had  mysteriously  lost 
her  plug  and  sank  in  half  a  fathom  of  water. 
July  had  gained  a  full  hundred  yards'  offing  be- 
fore the  pursuit  began  in  earnest,  and  this  meant 
a  good  deal.  Once  clear  of  the  point  the  small 
cutter  could  defy  their  rowing  and  reach  away  to 
the  eastward  with  the  wind  just  behind  her  beam. 
The  riding-officer  saw  this,  and  ordered  his  men 
to  fire.  They  assert,  and  we  must  believe,  that 
their  object  was  merely  to  disable  the  boat  by 
cutting  up  her  canvas. 

Their  first  desultory  volley  did  no  damage.  I 
stood  there,  high  on  the  cliff,  and  watched  the 
boat,  making  a  spy-glass  of  my  hands.  She  had 
fetched  in  close  under  the  point,  and  gone  about 
on  the  port  tack — the  next  would  clear — when 
the  first  shot  struck  her,  cutting  a  hole  through 
her  jib,  and  I  expected  the  wind  to  rip  the  sail  up 
immediately;  yet  it  stood.  The  breeze  being  dead 
on-shore,  the  little  boat  heeled  towards  us,  her 
mainsail  hiding  the  steerswoman. 

It  was  a  minute  later,  perhaps,  that  I  began  to 
suspect  that  July  was  hit,  for  she  allowed  the  jib 
to  shake  and  seemed  to  be  running  right  up  into 

248 


OF  JOSEPH  LAQUEDEM 

the  wind.  The  stem  swung  round  and  I  strained 
my  eyes  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her.  At  that  mo- 
ment a  third  volley  rattled  out,  a  bullet  shore 
through  the  peak  halliards,  and  the  mainsail  came 
down  with  a  run.     It  was  all  over. 

The  preventive  men  cheered  and  pulled  with  a 
will.  I  saw  them  run  alongside,  clamber  into  the 
cutter,  and  lift  the  fallen  sail. 

And  that  was  all.  There  was  no  one  on  board, 
alive  or  dead.  Whilst  the  canvas  hid  her,  in  the 
swift  two  minutes  between  the  boat's  putting 
about  and  her  running  up  into  the  wind,  July 
Constantino  must  have  lifted  her  lover's  body 
overboard  and  followed  it  to  the  bottom  of  the 
sea.  There  is  no  other  explanation;  and  of  the 
bond  that  knit  these  two  together  there  is,  when  I 
ask  myself  candidly^  no  explanation  at  all,  unless 
I  give  more  credence  than  I  have  any  wish  to 
give  to  the  wild  tale  which  Joseph  Laquedem 
told  me.  I  have  told  you  the  facts,  my  friend, 
and  leave  them  to  your  judgment. 


249 


IX 
PRISONERS    OF    WAR 

A    Tale  Reported  from  Ardevora 

You've  heard  tell,  I  dare  say,  about  Landlord 
Cummins  and  Billy  Bosistow,  and  the  great  jeal- 
ousy there  was  between  them.  ]^o  \  Well,  I 
see  you  going  about  Ardevora,  and  making  a 
study  of  us;  and  I  know  you  can  read,  because 
I've  seen  you  doing  it  down  to  the  Institute.  But 
sometimes,  when  I  ask  you  a  simple  little  ques- 
tion like  that,  you  force  me  to  wonder  what  you've 
been  doing  with  yourself  all  these  years.  Why, 
it  got  into  the  law  courts  ! 

I  know  all  about  it,  being  related  to  them 
both  after  a  fashion,  as  you  might  say.  Land- 
lord Cummins — he  that  used  to  keep  the  Welcome 
Home — married  an  aunt  of  mine  on  my  mother's 
side,  and  that's  part  of  the  story.  The  boys  used 
to  call  him  "  Calves-in-front,"  because  of  his  legs 
being  put  on  in  an  unusual  manner,  which  made 

him   walk  slow   all  his   days,   and   that's  another 

250 


PRISONERS  OF  WAR 

part  of  the  story.  And  Billy  Bosistow,  or  Uncle 
Billy,  was  my  father's  father's  stepson.  You 
needn't  take  any  trouble  to  get  that  clear  in  your 
mind,  because  our  family  never  owned  him  after 
he  came  home  from  the  French  war  prisons  and 
took  up  with  his  drinking  habits;  and  that  comes 
into  the  story,  too. 

As  it  happens,  the  occasion  that  took  their 
quarrel  into  the  law  courts  is  one  of  the  first  things 
I  can  remember.  It  was  in  the  year  'twenty-five. 
Landlord  Cummins,  by  dint  of  marrying  a  woman 
with  means  (that  was  my  aunt),  and  walking  the 
paths  of  repute  for  eleven  years  with  his  funny- 
shaped  calves,  got  himself  elected  Mayor  of  the 
Borough.  You  may  suppose  it  was  a  proud  day 
for  him.  In  those  times  the  borough  used  to  pay 
the  mayor  a  hundred  pounds  a  year  to  keep  up 
appearances,  and  my  mother  had  persuaded  my 
father  to  hire  a  window  for  Election  Day  opposite 
the  Town  Hall,  so  that  she  might  have  the  satis- 
faction of  seeing  so  near  a  relative  in  his  robes 
of  digTiity. 

Well,  there  in  the  window  we  were  gathered  on 

that  July  forenoon  (for  the  mayors  in  those  back- 

a-long  days  weren't  chosen  in  November  as  they 

arc   now),   and  the  sun — it  was   a   bright   day — 

slanting  high  down  our  side  of  the  street,  and  my 

251 


PRISONEES  OF  WAR 

mother  holding  me  tight  as  we  leaned  out,  for  I 
was  just  rising  five  and  extraordinary  heavy  in 
the  head.  And  out  upon  the  steps  of  the  Town 
Hall  stepped  Landlord  Cummins,  Mayor,  with 
the  town  crier  and  maces  before  him,  and  his  robes 
hanging  handsomely  about  his  calves,  and  his 
beaver  hat  and  all  the  rest  of  the  paraphernalia, 
prepared  to  march  to  church. 

While  he  stood  there,  bowing  to  a  score  of 
people,  and  looking  as  big  as  bull's  beef,  who 
should  step  out  from  the  pavement  under  us  but 
Uncle  Billy  Bosistow  !  He  was  a  ragged  old 
scarecrow,  turned  a  bit  grey  and  lean  with  in- 
iquitous living,  but  not  more  than  half -drunk; 
and  he  stepped  into  the  middle  of  the  roadway 
and  cut  a  low  reverence  to  his  worship,  flinging 
out  his  leg  like  a  dancing-master.  And  says  he, 
in  a  high  cackle,  very  solemn  but  mocking: 

"  I  salute  thee,  O  Mayor  !  Do  justice,  love 
mercy,  and  walk  humbly  before  thy  God." 

"  Put  that  dam  fool  in  the  stocks  !  "  cried  his 
worship,  very  red  in  the  gills,  and  speaking  vicious. 
And  Uncle  Billy  was  collared  and  marched  off 
between  two  constables,  while  the  procession 
formed  up  to  lead  the  new  Mayor  to  church. 

Well,    that,    as    it    happened,    wasn't    a    lucky 

start-off  for  Mr.  Cummins's  year  of  office.     For  no 

253 


PRISONERS  OF  WAR 

sooner  was  Billy  let  out  of  the  stocks  than  oflF 
he  went  to  Lawyer  Mennear,  who  was  a  young 
man  then  just  set  up  in  practice,  and  as  keen 
for  a  job  as  a  huer  for  pilchards;  and  between 
them  they  patched  up  an  action  for  false  im- 
prisonment— damages  claimed,  one  hundred 
pounds. 

The  case  came  on  at  Bodmin,  and  the  Mayor 
was  cast  in  damages,  twenty-five  pounds.  He  paid, 
of  course,  though  with  a  very  long  face.  But 
Billy's  revenge  didn't  stop  here.  Instead  of 
putting  the  money  by,  the  old  varmint  laid  it  out 
in  the  best  way  he  could  to  annoy  his  enemy. 
And  the  way  he  contrived  it  was  this.  Every 
free  Saturday  he'd  put  a  sovereign  in  his  pocket 
and  start  the  round  of  the  public-houses — always 
beginning  with  Cummins's  own  house,  the  Wel- 
come Home.  Cummins,  you  see,  couldn't  refuse 
to  serve  him:  the  law  wouldn't  allow  it.  So  he'd 
pull  out  a  brand  new  sovereign  and  slap  it  on  the 
counter  and  eye  it.  "  Ah  !  "  he'd  say,  "  it  was 
a  dear  friend  gave  me  that  there  coin.  His 
heart's  in  the  right  place,  which  is  more'n  can  be 
said  for  his  calves.  Two-pennyworth  of  gin,  please, 
your  Worship."  The  Mayor's  dignity  wouldn't 
let  him  serve  it,  so,  the  first  day,  he  called  his 

wife  down.     Mrs.  Cummins  began  by  trying  argu- 

253 


PEISONERS  OF  WAR 

ment.  "  William,"  slie  said,  "  the  Lord  knows 
you  wouldn't  have  this  money  if  there  was  justice 
in  England.  But  got  it  you  have,  and  now  be  a 
sensible  man  and  put  it  by  for  a  rainy  day." 
"  Mrs.  Mayor,"  answers  Billy,  slow  and  vicious, 
"  if  there  was  any  chance  of  presentin'  you  with 
a  silver  cradle,  I'd  save  it  up  and  subscribe." 
After  that  there  was  nothing  more  to  say.  It  hurt 
the  poor  soul  terrible,  and  she  went  upstairs  again 
and  cried  as  she  went.  Billy  sat  on  and  soaked, 
and  the  Mayor,  across  the  counter,  sat  and  watched 
his  condition,  quiet-like,  till  the  time  came  for 
refusing  any  more  liquor  and  turning  him  out. 
When  that  happened  the  old  sinner  would  gather 
up  his  change  and  make  off  for  another  public. 
And  the  end  was  that  he'd  be  up  before  the  Mayor 
on  Monday  morning,  charged  with  drunkenness. 
ISTo  use  to  fine  him;  he  wouldn't  pay,  but  went 
to  gaol  instead.  "  Ten  years  was  I  in  prison," 
he'd  say,  addressing  the  bench,  "  along  with  his 
Worship  there.  I  don't  know  what  'twould  ap- 
pear to  him  who  came  back  and  got  the  Welcome 
Home;  but  I  didn't,  and  ten  days  don't  frighten 
me." 

Landlord  Cummins  would  listen  to  this,  looking 
as  unnatural  as  a  blue  china  cat  in  a  thunder- 
storm.    He  fairly  hated  these  appearances  of  Billy, 

254 


PEISONERS  OF  WAR 

and  they  spoiled  his  term  of  office,  T  do  ]ielieve. 
But  all  the  same  he  turned  out  a  vcrv  passable 
Mayor.  The  townsfolk  respected  him  so  highly, 
I've  heard  my  mother  say,  that  they  made  him 
Ex-Mayor  the  year  following. 

Now  you'll  be  wanting  to  know  what  made 
these  two  men  hate  each  other,  for  friends  they 
had  been,  as  two  men  ought  to  be  who  had  been 
taken  prisoners  together  and  spent  ten  years  in 
captivity  to  the  French,  and  come  home  aboard 
the  same  ship  like  brothers.  The  bigger  the  love 
the  bigger  the  hate,  and  no  difficulty  to  guess  there 
was  a  woman  in  the  case.  So  there  was;  but  the 
way  she  came  between  them  was  curious,  for  all 
that. 

First  of  all,  you  must  know,  that  up  to  the  year 

'three   Abe   Cummins   and   Bill   Bosistow   hadn't 

known  what  it  is  to  quarrel  or  miss  meeting  each 

other  every  day.     They  went  to  school  together, 

and  then  to  the  fishing,  and  afterwards  they  sailed 

together   with    the    free-traders    over   to    IMoimt's 

Bay,  and  good  seamen  the  botli.  though  not  a  bit 

alike  in  looks  and  ways.     Abe,  the  elder  by  a  year, 

was  a  bit  slow  niid  heavy  on  his  pins;  given  to 

reading,  too,  though  he  seemed  to  take  it  up  for 

peace  and  quietness  more  than  for  any  show  he 

made  of  his  learning.     Bill  was  smarter  altogether 

255 


PRISONERS  OF  WAR 

and  better  looking;  a  bit  boastful,  after  the  man- 
ner of  young  chaps.  He  could  read  too,  but  never 
did  much  at  it,  though  I've  heard  that  on  Sat- 
urday nights  he  was  fond  of  ranting  verses — stuff 
about  drink  and  such  like — out  of  a  book  of 
Robert  Burns's  poetry  he'd  borrowed  off  Abe. 

You'd  hardly  have  thought  two  young  fellows 
so  different  in  every  way  could  have  hit  it  off  to- 
gether as  they  did.  But  these  were  like  two  fig- 
ures in  a  puzzle-block;  their  very  differences 
seemed  to  make  them  fit.  There  never  was  such 
a  pair  since  David  and  Jonathan,  and  I  believe 
'twas  partly  this  that  kept  them  from  running 
after  girls.  So  far  as  I  can  see,  the  most  of  the 
lads  begin  at  seventeen;  but  these  two  held  off 
sweethearting  right  along  until  Christmas  of  the 
year  'three  when  they  came  home  from  Porthleven 
to  spend  a  fortnight  at  Ardevora,  and  they  both 
fell  in  love  with  Selina  Johns. 

Selina    Johns    wasn't    but    just    husband-high; 

turned  sixteen  and  her  hair  only  put  up  a  week 

before,  she  having  begged  her  mother's  leave  to 

twist  it  in  plaits  for  the  Christmas  courants.     And 

Abe  and  Billy  each  knew  the  other's  secret  almost 

before  he  knew  his  own,  for  each,  as  you  may  say, 

kept  his  heart  like  a  window  and  looked  into  his 

friend's  window  first. 

2m 


PRISONERS   OF  WAR 

And  what  they  did  was  to  have  it  out  like  good 
fellows,  and  agree  to  wait  a  couple  of  years,  unless 
any  third  party  should  interfere.  In  two  years' 
time,  they  agreed,  Selina  Johns  would  be  wise 
enough  to  choose — and  then  let  the  best  man  win  ! 
No  bad  blood  afterwards,  and  meanwhile  no  more 
talk  than  necessary — they  shook  hands  upon  that. 
That  January,  being  tired  of  the  free-trade,  they 
shipped  together  on  board  a  coaster  for  the  Thames, 
and  re-shipped  for  the  voyage  homeward  on  board 
the  brig  Hand  and  Glove,  of  London. 

The  Hand  and  Glove,  Uriah  Wilcox,  master, 
was  bound  for  Devonport  with  a  cargo  of  copper 
and  flour  for  the  dockyard  there,  and  came  to 
anchor  in  the  Downs  on  March  24th  to  join  convoy 
under  the  Spider  gun-brig.  On  the  25th  (a  Sun- 
day) it  blew  hard  from  north  to  west,  and  she  let 
go  sheet  anchor.  Next  day  the  weather  moder- 
ated a  bit,  and,  heaving  up  her  sheet  anchor,  she 
rode  to  her  best  bower.  On  the  Tuesday,  the 
wind  having  fallen  light,  the  master  took  off  a 
new  longboat  from  Deal.  There  was  some  hitch 
in  delivering  her,  and  she  was  scarcely  brought 
alongside  by  five  the  next  morning  when  the  Com- 
modore signalled  to  get  under  weigh. 

By  reason  of  this  delay,  the  Hand  and  Glove 

was  taken  unawares,  and  started  well  astern  of  the 

257 


PEISONERS  OF  WAR 

fleet,  wliicli  numbered  over  twenty  sail  of  mer- 
chantmen; and,  being  a  sluggard  in  anything 
short  of  half  a  gale,  she  made  up  precious  little 
way  in  the  light  E.N.E.  breeze. 

Soon  after  seven  that  evening,  Beachy  Head 
bearing  N.W.  by  W.  four  miles  and  a  half,  Abe 
Cummins  on  the  look-out  forward  spied  a  lugger 
coming  towards  shore  upon  a  wind.  She  crossed 
well  ahead  of  the  Hand  and  Glove,  and  close — as 
it  looked — under  the  stem  of  an  East  Indiaman, 
which  was  then  busy  reefing  topsails  before  night. 
For  a  while  Abe  lost  sight  of  her  under  the  dark 
of  the  land;  but  by-and-by  the  wheelman  took  a 
glance  over  his  shoulder,  and  there  she  was,  creep- 
ing up  close  astern.  His  call  fetched  up  Captain 
Wilcox,  who  ran  aft  and  hailed,  but  got  no  reply. 
And  so  she  came  on,  until,  sheering  close  up  under 
the  Hand  and  Glove's  port  quarter,  she  was  able 
to  heave  a  grapnel  on  board  and  throw  twenty 
well-armed  Johnnies  into  the  old  brig.  The  Eng- 
lishmen— seven  in  all,  and  taken  unprepared — 
were  soon  driven  below  and  shut  down — four  in 
the  cabin,  two  in  the  steerage,  and  one  in  the  fore- 
castle, this  last  being  Abe  Cummins.  After  a 
while  the  sentry  over  the  hatchway  called  for 
him  to  come  up  and  show  where  the  leading  ropes 

were,    which    he   did'  at   the   point    of   a    cutlass. 

258 


PRISONERS  OF  WAR 

And  proeions  soon  the  Johnnies  had  altered 
the  brig's  course  and  stood  away  for  the  coast 
of  France,  the  higger  keeping  her  company  all 
night. 

Early  next  morning  the  two  vessels  were  close 
off  Dieppe  Harbour;  and  there,  when  the  tide 
suited,  they  were  taken  inside,  and  the  prisoners 
put  ashore  at  nightfall  and  lodged  for  three  days 
in  a  filthy  round  tower,  swarming  with  vermin. 
On  April  1 — Easter  Sunday,  I've  heard  it  was — 
they  were  told  to  get  ready  for  marching,  and 
handed  over,  making  twenty-five  in  all,  with  the 
crews  of  two  other  vessels,  both  brigs — the  Lisbon 
Packet,  bound  from  London  to  Falmouth  with  a 
general  cargo,  and  the  Margaret,  letter  of  marque 
of  London,  bound  from  Zante,  laden  with  cur- 
rants— to  a  lieutenant  and  a  guard  of  foot  soldiers, 
Not  a  man  of  them  knew  where  they  were  bound. 
They  set  out  through  a  main  pretty  country, 
where  the  wheat  stood  near-abouts  knee-high,  but 
the  roads  were  heavy  after  the  spring  rains.  Each 
man  had  seven  shillings  in  his  pocket,  given  him 
at  parting  by  the  captain  of  his  vessel — the  three 
captains  had  been  left  behind  at  Dieppe — and  on 
they  trudged  for  just  a  fortnight  on  an  allowance 
of  1  lb.  of  brown  bread  and  twopence-halfpenny 

per  man  per  day;  the  bread  served  out  regular  and 

259 


PEISONEES  OF  WAR 

the  money,  so  to  say,  when  they  conld  get  it. 
Mostly  they  came  to  a  town  for  their  night's  halt, 
and  as  often  as  not  the  townsfolk  druimiied  them 
to  jail  with  what  we  call  the  "  Rogue's  March," 
but  in  France  I  believe  it's  "  Honours  of  War," 
or  something  that  sounds  politer  than  'tis.  But 
there  were  times  when  they  had  to  put  up  at  a 
farm  house  by  the  road,  and  then  the  poor  chaps 
slept  on  straw  for  a  treat. 

Well,  on  the  last  day  of  the  fortnight  they 
reached  their  journey's  end — a  great  fortress  on  a 
rock  standing  right  over  the  river,  with  a  town 
lying  around  the  foot  of  the  rock,  and  a  smaller 
town,  reached  by  a  bridge  of  boats,  on  the  far 
side  of  the  river.  I  can't  call  to  mind  the  name 
of  the  river,  but  the  towns  were  called  Jivvy — 
Great  and  Little  Jivvy.*  The  prison  stood  at  the 
very  top  of  the  rock,  on  the  edge  of  a  cliff  that 
dropped  a  clean  300  feet  to  the  river:  not  at  all 
a  pretty  place  to  get  clear  of,  and  none  so  cheerful 
to  live  in  on  a  day's  allowance  of  one  pound  of 
brown  bread,  half  a  pound  of  bullock's  offal,  three- 
halfpence  in  money  (paid  weekly,  and  the  most 
of  it  deducted  for  prison  repairs,  if  you  please  !), 
and  now  and  then  a  noggin  of  peas  for  a  treat. 

*  Givet  in   the   Ardennes.      The    river,    of    course,    is    the 
Meuse. 

260 


PRISONERS  OF  WAR 

They  found  lialf  a  dozen  ships'  companies  already 
there,  and  enjoying  themselves  on  this  diet;  the 
crew  of  the  Minerva  frigate,  rim  ashore  oflf  Cher- 
bourg; the  crew  of  the  Hussar,  wrecked  outside 
Brest;  and — so  queerly  things  fall  out  in  this 
world — among  them  a  parcel  of  poor  fellows  from 
Ardevora,  taken  on  board  the  privateer  Recovery 
of  this  port. 

To  keep  to  my  story,  though — which  is  about 
Abe  Cummins  and  Billy  Bosistow.  It  was  just  in 
these  unhappy  conditions  that  the  difference  in  the 
two  men  came  out.  Abe  took  his  downfall  very 
quiet  from  the  first.  He  had  managed  to  keep  a 
book  in  his  pocket — a  book  of  voyages  it  was — and 
carry  it  with  him  all  the  way  from  Dieppe,  and 
it  really  didn't  seem  to  matter  to  him  that  he  was 
shut  up,  so  long  as  he  could  sit  in  a  corner  and 
read  about  other  folks  travelling.  In  the  second 
year  of  their  captivity  an  English  clergyman,  a 
Mr.  Wolfe,  came  to  Jiv^^y,  and  got  leave  from  the 
Commandant  to  fit  up  part  of  the  prison  granary 
for  a  place  of  worship  and  preach  to  the  prisoners. 
It  had  a  good  effect  on  the  men  in  general,  and 
Abe  in  particular  turned  very  religious.  Mr. 
Wolfe  took  a  fancy  to  him,  and  lent  him  an  old 
book  on  "  Navigation  " — Hamilton  Moore's;   and 

over  that  Abe  would  sit  by   the  hour,   with   his 

261 


PEISONERS  OF  WAR 

room-mates  drimk  and   fighting  round   him,   and 

copy   out    tables    and    work    out    sums.     All    his 

money  went  in  pen  and  ink  instead  of  the  liquor 

which  the  jailors  smuggled  in. 

Billy   Bosistow   was    a    very    different    pair    of 

shoes.     Although  no  drinker  by  habit,  he  fretted 

and  wore  himself  down  at  times  to  a  lowness  of 

spirits  in  which  nothing  seemed  to  serve  him  but 

drinking,  and  fierce  drinking.     On  his  better  days 

he  was  everybody's  favourite;  but  when  the  mood 

fell  on  him  he  grew  teasy  as  a  bear  with  a  sore 

head,  and  fit  to  set  his  right  hand  quarreling  with 

his  left.     Then  came  the  drinking  fit,   and  he'd 

wake  out  of  that  like  a  man  dazed,  sitting  in  a 

corner  and  brooding  for  days  together.     What  he 

brooded  on,  of  course,  was  means  of  escape.     At 

first,  like  every  other  prisoner  in  Ji^^y,  he  had 

kept  himself  cheerful  with  hopes  of  exchange,  but 

it  seemed  the  folks  home  in  Ardevora  had  given 

up    trying    for    a    release,    or    else    letters    never 

reached  them.     And  yet  they  must  have  known 

something  of  the  case  their  poor  kinsmen  were  in, 

for  in  the  second  year  the  Commandant  sent  for 

Abe  and  Billy,  and  informed  them  that,  by  the 

kindness  of  a  young  English  lady,  a  Miss  Selina 

Johns,  their  allowance  was  increased  by  two  sols 

a  day.     lie  showed  them  no  letter,  but  the  in- 

262 


PRISOXERS  OF  WAR 

crease  was  paid  regularly  for  eight  months;  after 
which  a  new  Commandant  came,  and  it  ceased. 
They  could  never  find  out  if  the  supply  ceased, 
or  into  whose  pocket  it  went  if  it  came. 

From  that  time  Bosistow  had  two  things  to  brood 
upon — escape  and  Selina.  But  confinement  is 
the  ruination  of  some  natures,  and  as  year  after 
year  went  by  and  his  wits  broke  themselves  on  a 
stone  wall,  he  grew  into  a  very  different  man  from 
the  handy  lad  the  Johnnies  had  taken  prisoner. 
One  thing  he  never  gave  up,  and  that  was  his 
pluck;  and  he  had  plenty  of  use  for  it  when,  after 
seven  vears,  his  chance  came. 

His  first  contrivance  was  to  change  names  with 
an  old  American  in  the  depot.  It  so  happened 
that  the  captain  of  a  French  privateer  had  ap- 
plied to  the  prison  for  a  crew  of  foreigners  to  man 
his  ship,  then  lying  at  Morlaix.  The  trick,  by  oil- 
ing the  jailor's  palm,  was  managed  easily  enough, 
and  away  Bosistow  was  marched  with  twenty 
comrades  of  all  nations.  But  at  the  first  stage 
some  recruiting  officers  stopped  them,  insisting 
that  they  were  Irish  and  not  Americans,  and  must 
be  enlisted  to  serve  with  Bonaparty's  army  in 
Spain.  The  prisoners  to  a  man  refused  to  hear 
of  it,  and  the  end  was  they  were  marched  back 
to  prison  in  disgrace,  and,  to  cap  everything,  had 

263 


PEISONERS  OF  WAR 

their  English  allowance  stopped  on  pretence  that 
thej  had  been  in  the  French  service. 

Yet  this  brought  him  a  second  chance,  for  being 
now  declared  an  Irishman  he  managed  to  get  him- 
self locked  up  with  the  Irish,  who  had  their  quar- 
ters on  the  handier  side  of  the  prison;  and  that 
same  night  broke  out  of  window  with  two  other 
fellows,  got  over  the  prison  wall,  and  hid  in  the 
woods  beyond.  But  on  the  second  day  a  party  of 
wood-rangers  attacked  them  with  guns  and  capt- 
ured them;  and  back  they  went,  and  were  con- 
demned to  six  years  in  irons. 

This,  as  it  turned  out,  didn't  amount  to  much; 
for,  while  they  were  waiting  to  be  marched  off  to 
the  galleys,  their  jailor  came  with  news  that  a  son 
was  bom  to  the  Emperor,  and  they  were  pardoned 
in  honour  of  it.  But  instead  of  putting  them 
back  in  their  old  quarters,  he  fixed  them  up  for  a 
fortnight  in  a  room  by  themselves,  being  fearful 
that  such  bad  characters  would  contaminate  the 
other  prisoners.  This  room  was  an  upstairs  one  in 
a  building  on  the  edge  of  the  ramparts,  and  after 
a  few  nights  they  broke  through  the  ceiling  into 
an  empty  chamber,  which  had  a  window  looking 
on  the  roof.  With  a  rope  made  of  their  bed- 
clothes  they   lowered   themselves   clean    over    the 

ramparts  on  to  the  edge  of  the  precipice  over  the 

2G4 


PKISONEES  0¥  WAR 

river;  and  along  this  they  passed — having  no  (h\y- 
light  to  make  them  giddy — and  took  their  way 
northwards  across  the  fields. 

AVell,  it  doesn't  come  into  my  tale  to  tell  you 
what  they  went  throiigli.  Bosistow  wrote  out  an 
account  of  it  years  after,  and  you  shall  read  it 
for  yourself.  At  one  place  they  had  to  cross  a 
river,  and  Billy,  being  like  the  most  of  our  fisher- 
men, no  swimmer,  his  mates  stuck  him  on  a  hurdle 
and  pushed  him  over  wdiilo  they  swam  behind. 
They  steered  by  the  Pole  Star  (for,  you  under- 
stand, they  could  only  travel  by  night)  and  also  by 
a  fine  comet  which  they  guessed  to  be  in  the  north- 
west quarter. 

You  see  the  difference  between  these  two  fel- 
lows and  how  little  Providence  made  of  it.  Back 
in  Jivvy  Abe  Cummins  was  staring  at  this  same 
comet  out  of  his  prison  wnndows,  and  doing  liis 
sums  and  thinking  of  Selina  Johns.  And  here 
was  Bosistow  following  it  up  for  freedom — with 
the  upshot  that  he  made  the  coast  and  was  taken 
like  a  lamb  in  the  attempt  to  hire  a  passage,  and 
marched  in  irons  from  one  jail  to  another,  and 
then  clean  back  the  whole  length  of  France,  pretty 
well  to  the  Mediterranean  Sea.  And  then  he  was 
shut  up  in  a  ])ris(in  on  the  very  top  of  the  Alps 

and  twice  as  far  from  home  as  he  had  been   in 

265 


PRISONEES  OF  WAR 

Jiwy.*     That's  a  moral  against  folks  in  a  hurry 
if  ever  there  was  one. 

Well,  let  alone  that  while  he  was  here  he 
received  a  free  pardon  from  the  Emperor,  which 
his  persecutors  took  no  notice  of,  he  broke  out  of 
prison  again,  and  was  caught  and  brought  back 
half-starving.  And  'twasn't  till  Christmas  of  the 
year  'thirteen  that  orders  came  to  march  him  right 
away  north  again,  with  all  the  prisoners  to  a  place 
in  the  Netherlands,  and  no  sooner  arrived  than 
away  to  go  again  three  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
north-west  for  Tours,  on  the  Loire  river.  I've 
figured  it  out  on  the  map,  and  even  that  is  enough 
to  make  a  man  feel  sore  in  his  feet.  But  what 
made  Bosistow  glad  at  the  time,  and  vicious  after, 
was  that  on  his  way  he  fell  in  with  a  draft  of 
prisoners,  and,  among  them  with  Abe  Cummins, 
who,  so  to  say,  had  reached  the  same  place  by 
walking  a  tenth  part  of  the  distance.  And,  what's 
more,  though  a  man  couldn't  very  well  get  sleek 
in  Jiwy,  Abe  had  kept  his  bones  filled  out  some- 
how, and  knew  enough  navigation  by  this  time  to 
set  a  course  to  the  Channel  Fleet.  'Deed,  that's 
what  he  began  talking  about  on  the  first  day's 
journey  he  and  Billy  trudged  together  after  their 
meeting.     And  he  began  it  after  a  spell  of  silence 

*  Probably  Brianfon  in  the  Hautes  Ali)e8. 
266 


PKISONERS  OF  WAR 


by  asking,  quiet  like,  "  Have  yon  been  happeninjij 
to  think  much  about  Sclina  Johns  this  last  year 
or  two  ? " 

"  Most  every  day,"  answered  Billy. 

"  So  have  I,"  said  Abe,  and  seemed  to  be  pon- 
dering to  himself.  "  She'll  be  a  woman  growed 
by  this  time,"  he  went  on. 

"  Turnin'  twenty-seven,"  Billy  agreed. 

"  That's  of  it,"  said  Abe.  "  I've  been  thinking 
about  her  constant." 

"  Well,  look'ee  here,"  spoke  up  Billy,  "  our 
little  agreement  holds,  don't  it  ? — that  is,  if  we 
ever  get  out  of  this  here  mess,  and  Sclina  hasn't 
gone  and  taken  a  husband.  Play  fair,  leave  it  to 
the  maid,  and  let  the  best  man  win:  that's  what 
we  shook  hands  over.  If  that  holds,  seemin'  to 
me  the  rest  can.  wait." 

"  True,  true,"  says  Abe;  but  after  a  bit  he  asks 
rather  sly-like :  "  And  s'posin'  you're  the  lucky  one, 
how  do'ee  reckon  you're  going  to  maintain  lier  ? " 

"  Why,  on  seaman's  wages,  I  suppose,  or  else 
at  the  shoe-mending.  I  loarnt  a  little  of  that 
trade  in  Jivvy,  as  you  d'know." 

"  Well,"  says  Abe,  "  I  was  reckonin'  to  set  up 

school  and  teach  navigation.     Back  in   Ardevora 

I  can  make  between  seventy  and  eighty  pounds 

a  year  at  that  game  easy." 

267 


PEISONEES  OF  WAE 

Bosistow  scratched  liis  head.  "  You've  been 
making  the  most  of  joiir  time.  Now  I've  been 
busy  in  my  way,  too,  but  seemin'  to  me  the  only 
trade  I've  learned  is  prison  breakin'.  Not  much 
to  keep  a  wife  on,  as  you  say.  Still,  a  bargain's 
a  bargain." 

"Oh,  sutt'nly,"  says  Abe;  "that  is  if  your 
conscience  allows  it." 

"  I  reckon  I'll  risk  that,"  answers  Billy,  and 
no  more  j)assed. 

From   Tours   the   prisoners  tramped   south-east 

again,  to  a  town  called  Riou,  in  the  middle  of 

France,  and  reached  it  in  a  snowstorm  on  March 

1.     Here  they  were  billeted  for  five  weeks  or  so, 

and  here,   one   night,   they  were   waked  up    and 

told  that  Bonaparty  had  gone  scat,  and  they  must 

come   forth   and   dance   with   the   townspeople   in 

honour  of  it.     You  may  be  sure  they  heeled  and 

toed  it  that  night,  and  no  girl  satisfied  unless  she 

had  an  Englishman  for  a  partner.     But  the  next 

day  it  all  turned  out  to  be  lies,  and  off  they  were 

marched  again.     To  be  short,  'twasn't  till  the  end 

of   April    that    they   came   to    the    river   opposite 

Bordeaux,  and  were  taken  in  charge  by  English 

redcoats,  who  told  them  they  were  free  men.     On 

the  28th  of  that  month  Abe  and  JBilly,  with  forty 

others,   were   put  on  board  a  sloop  and   dropped 

268 


PRISONEES  OF  WAR 

down  the  river  to  the  Dartmouth  frigate,  from 
which  they  were  drafted  on  to  the  Lord  Well- 
ington, and  again  on  to  the  Suffolk  transport. 
And  on  May  4  the  Suffolk,  with  six  other  trans- 
pod-ts,  having  about  fifteen  hundred  released  pris- 
oners on  board,  weighed  anchor  under  convoy  for 
Plymouth  before  a  fine  breeze,  S.E.  by  S. 

On  Monday,  May  9,  at  half-past  two  in  the 
afternoon — the  wind  still  steady  in  the  same  quar- 
ter, and  blowing  fresh — the  Suffolk  sighted  land, 
making  out  St.  Michael's  Mount;  and  fetching  up 
to  Mousehole  Island,  the  captain  hailed  a  mack- 
erel boat  to  come  alongside  and  take  ashore  some 
officers  with  despatches. 

Abe  Cummins  and  Billy  Bosistow  were  both  on 
deck,  you  may  be  sure,  watching  the  boat  as  the 
fishermen  brought  her  alongside.  Not  a  word  had 
been  said  between  them  on  the  matter  that  lay 
closest  to  their  minds,  but  while  they  waited  Billy 
fetched  a  look  at  the  boat  and  another  at  Abe. 
"  The  best  man  wins,"  he  said  to  himself,  and 
edged  away  towards  the  ladder. 

The  breeze,  as  I  said,  was  a  fresh  one,  with  a 
sea  in  the  bay  that  kept  the  Suffolk  rolling  like 
a  porpoise.  A  heavier  lurch  than  ordinary  sent 
her  main  channels  grinding  down  on  the  mack- 
erel boat's  gunwale,  smashing  her  upper  strakes 

2GU 


PRISONERS  OF  WAR 

and  springing  her  mizzen  mast  as  she  recovered 
herself. 

"  Be  dashed,"  said  one  of  the  officers,  "  if  I 
trust  myself  in  a  boat  that'll  go  down  under  us 
between  this  and  land  !  " 

The  rest  seemed  to  be  of  his  mind,  too.  But 
Billy,  being  quick  as  well  as  eager,  saw  in  a  mo- 
ment that  the  damaged  strakes  would  be  to  wind- 
ward on  the  reach  into  Mousehole,  and  well  out 
of  harm's  way  in  the  wind  then  blowing,  and 
also  that  her  mainsail  alone  would  do  the  job  easy. 
So  just  as  she  fell  off  and  her  crew  ran  aft  to  get 
the  mizzen  lug  stowed  he  took  a  run  past  the 
officer  and  jumped  aboard,  with  two  fellows  close 
on  his  heels — one  a  Penzance  fellow  whose  name 
I've  forgot,  and  the  t'other  a  chap  from  Ludgvan, 
Harry  Cornish  by  name.  I  reckon  the  sight  of 
the  old  shores  just  made  them  mazed  as  sheep,  and 
like  sheep  they  followed  his  lead.  The  officers 
ran  to  stop  any  more  from  copying  such  foolish- 
ness; and  if  they  hadn't,  I  believe  the  boat  would 
have  been  swamped  there  and  then.  As  'twas 
she  re-hoisted  her  big  lug  and  away-to-go  for 
Mousehole,  the  three  passengers  sitting  down  to 
leeward  with  their  sterns  in  and  out  of  the  water 
to  help  keep  her  damaged  side  above  mischief. 

So    on    Mousehole    Quay    these    three    stepped 

270 


PRISONERS  OF  WAR 

ashore,  and  the  first  man  to  shake  hands  with  them 
was  Capen  Josiah  Penny,  of  the  Perseverance 
trading  ketch,  then  lying  snng  in  Mousehole  Har- 
bour. Being  a  hearty  man  he  invited  them  down 
to  his  cabin  to  take  a  drop  of  rum.  The  Pen- 
zance fellow,  having  only  a  short  way  to  trudge, 
said  "  No,  thank'ee,"  and  started  for  home  with  a 
small  crowd  after  him.  But  Bosistow  and  Cor- 
nish agreed  'twould  be  more  neighbourly  to  accept, 
and,  to  tell  the  truth,  they  didn't  quite  know  how 
to  behave  with  so  many  eyes  upon  them.  Cornish 
had  on  a  soldier's  red  jacket  with  wliite  facings, 
and  a  pair  of  blue  trousers  out  at  the  knees,  while 
Bosistow's  trousers  were  of  white  cloth,  and  he 
carried  a  japanned  knapsack  at  the  back  of  his 
red  shirr,  and  with  a  white-painted  straw  hat 
apiece,  you  may  guess  they  felt  themselves  look- 
ing like  two  figures  of  fun. 

So  down  they  went  to  the  Perseverance^ s  cabin, 
and  Capcn  Penny  mixed  them  a  stiff  glass  of  rum, 
and  called  them  fine  fellows,  and  mixed  them  two 
more  glasses  while  they  talked;  and  when  the 
time  came  to  say  "  so  long,"  Billy  was  quite  sure 
he  didn't  care  for  appearances  one  snap  of  his 
fingers. 

They    linked    arms   on   the    quay,    where    they 

found  a  crowd  waiting  for  them,  and  many  with 

271 


PEISONERS  OF  WAR 

questions  to  ask  about  absent  friends,  so  that  from 
Mouseliole  to  Penzance  it  was  a  regular  procession. 
And  then  they  had  to  go  to  the  hotel  and  tell 
the  whole  story  over  again,  and  answer  a  thousand 
and  one  questions  about  Penzance  boys  imprisoned 
at  Jiwy.     And  all  this  meant  more  rum,  of  course. 

It  was  seven  in  the  evening,  and  day  closing  in, 
before  they  took  the  road  again.  Billy  had  fallen 
into  a  boastful  mood,  and  felt  his  heart  so  warm 
towards  Cornish  that  nothing  would  do  but  they 
must  tramp  it  together  so  far  as  Nancledrea,  which 
was  a  goodish  bit  out  of  Cornish's  road  to 
Ludgvan.  By  the  time  they  reached  ISTancledrea 
Billy  was  shedding  tears  and  begging  Cornish  to 
come  along  to  Ardevora.  "  I'll  make  a  man  of 
'ee  there,"  he  promised:  "I  will  sure  'nough  !  " 
But  Cornish  weighed  the  offer,  and  decided  that 
his  mother  at  Ludgvan  would  be  going  to  bed  be- 
fore long.  So  coming  to  a  house  with  red  blinds 
and  lights  within  they  determined  to  have  a  drink 
before  parting. 

In  the  tap-room  they  found  a  dozen  fellows  or 
so  drinking  their  beer  and  smoking  solemn,  and  an 
upstanding  woman  in  a  black  gown  attending  on 
them.  "  IIullo  !  "  says  one  of  the  men  looking 
up,  "  What's  this  ?     Geezy-dancers  ?  "  "' 

*  Performers  in  a  Christmas  Play. 


PRISONERS  OF  WAR 

"  I'll  soon  tell  'ee  about  Geczy-dancers,"  says 
Billy.  ''"Here,  Missus — a  pot  of  ale  all  round, 
and  let  'em  drink  to  two  Cornisli  boys  borne  from 
festerin'  in  French  war  prisons,  wbile  tbey've 
a'been  diggin'  taties  !  " 

There  was  no  resisting  a  sociable  offer  like  this, 
and  in  two  two's,  as  you  might  say,  Billy  was 
boasting  ahead  for  all  he  was  worth,  and  the 
company  with  their  mouths  open — all  but  the 
landlady,  who  was  opening  her  eyes  instead,  and 
wider  and  wider. 

"  There  isn'  none  present  that  remembers  me, 
I  dare  say.  My  name's  Bosistow — Billy  Bosis- 
tow — from  Ardevora  parish.  And  back  there 
I'm  going  this  very  night,  and  why  ?  you  ask.  I 
ben't  one  of  your  taty-diggin'  slowheads — I  ben't. 

I've  broke  out  of  prison  three  times,  and  now " 

He  nodded  at  the  company,  whose  faces  by  this 
time  he  couldn't  very  well  pick  out  of  a  heap 
— "  do  any  of  'ee  know  a  maid  there  called  Se- 
lina  Johns  ?  Because  if  so  I  warn  'ee  of  her. 
'  Why  !  '  says  you.  Because  that's  the  maid  I'm 
goin'  to  marry,  and  I'm  off  to  Ardevora  to  do  it 
straight.     Another  pot  of  beer,  please,  missus." 

"  You've  had  a  jdenty,  sir,  seemin'  to  me," 
answered  up  the  landlady. 

"  And  is  this  the  way  " — Billy  stood  ii])  very 

273 


PEISONEES  OF  WAR 

dignified — "  is  this  tlie  way  to  welcome  home  a 
man  who  bled  for  his  country  ?  Is  this  your 
gratitude  to  a  man  who's  spent  ten  o'  the  best 
years  of  his  life  in  slavery  while  you've  been 
diggin'  taties  ?  "  I  can't  tell  you  why  potatoes 
ran  so  much  in  the  poor  fellow's  head,  but  they 
did,  and  he  seemed  to  see  the  hoeing  of  them 
almost  in  the  light  of  a  personal  injury.  He  spat 
on  the  floor.  "  And  as  for  you,  madam,  these  here 
boots  of  mine  have  tramped  thousands  of  miles, 
and  I  shake  off  their  dust  upon  you,"  he  says. 

"  I  wish  you'd  confine  yourself  to  that,  with 
your  dirty  habits  !  "  the  landlady  answered  up 
again,  but  Billy  marched  out  with  great  dignity 
whicli  was  only  spoiled  by  his  mistaking  the 
shadow  across  the  doorway  for  a  raised  step.  He 
didn't  forget  to  slam  the  door  after  him;  but  he 
did  forget  to  take  leave  of  Harry  Cornish,  who 
had  walked  so  far  out  of  his  way  in  pure  friend- 
liness. 

For  the  first  mile  or  so,  what  with  his  anger 

and  the  fresh  air,  Billy  had  a  to-do  to  keep  his 

pins  and  fix  his  mind  on  the  road.     But  by-and-by 

his  brain  cleared  a  bit,  and  when  he  reached  the 

hil]  over  Ardevora,  and  saw  the  lights  of  the  town 

below  him,  his  mood  clianged,  and  he  sat  down 

on  the  turf  of  the  slope  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 

274 


PRISONERS  OF  WAR 

"  There  you  be,"  said  lie,  talking  to  the  lights, 
"and  here  be  1;  niid  somewheres  down  amongst 
you  is  the  dear  maid  I've  come  to  marry.  Not 
much  welcome  for  mo  in  Ardevora,  I  b'law, 
though  I  do  love  every  stone  of  her  streets.  But 
there's  one  there  that  didn'  forget  me  in  my 
captivity,  and  won't  despise  me  in  these  here  rags. 
I  wish  I'd  seen  Abe's  face  when  I  jumped  aboard 
the  boat.  Poor  old  Abe  ! — but  all's  fair  in  love 
and  war,  I  reckon.  He  can't  be  here  till  to-mor- 
row at  earliest,  so  let's  have  a  pipe  o'  baccy  on  it." 

He  lit  up  and  sucked  away  at  his  pipe,  still  con- 
sidering the  lights  in  the  valley.  Somehow  they 
put  him  in  mind  of  Abe,  and  how  in  the  old  days 
he  and  Abe  used  to  come  on  them  shining  just 
so  on  their  way  home  on  Saturday  nights  from 
Bessie's  Cove.  Poor  old  mate  ! — first  of  all  he 
pictured  Abe's  chap-fallon  face,  and  chuckled; 
then  he  began  to  wonder  if  Abe  would  call  it  fair 
play.  But  all  was  fair  in  love  and  war:  he  k(']it 
saying  this  over  to  himself,  and  then  lit  another 
pipe  to  think  it  out. 

Well,  he  couldn't;  and  so,  after  a  third  pipe, 
he  pulled  nn  old  French  cloak  out  of  his  knap- 
sack and  wrapped  himself  in  it  and  huddled  him- 
self to  sleep  there  on  the  slope  of  the  hillside. 

When  he  woke  up  the  sim  was  sliiniug  and  the 

275 


PRISONEES  OF  WAR 

smoke  coming  up  towards  liim  from  the  chimneys, 
and  all  about  him  the  larks  a-dinging  just  as 
they'd  carried  on  every  fine  morning  since  he'd 
left  Ardevora.  And  somehow,  though  he  had 
dropped  asleep  in  a  jjuzzle  of  mind,  he  woke  up 
with  not  a  doubt  to  trouble  him.  He  hunted  out 
a  crust  from  his  knapsack  and  made  his  breakfast, 
and  then  he  lit  his  pipe  again  and  turned  towards 
Penzance.     He  was  going  to  play  fair. 

On  he  went  in  this  frame  of  mind,  feeling  like 
a  man  almost  too  virtuous  to  go  to  church,  until 
by-and-by  he  came  in  sight  of  jSTancledrea  and  the 
inn  he'd  left  in  such  a  hurry  over  night.  And 
who  should  be  sitting  in  the  porchway,  and  look- 
ing into  the  bottom  of  a  pint  pot,  but  Abe  Cum- 
mins ! 

"  Why,  however  on  earth  did  you  come  here  ? " 
asked  Billy. 

"  Cap'en  landed  us  between  four  and  five  this 
morning,"  said  Abe. 

"  Well,"  said  Billy,  "  I'm  right  glad  to  meet 
you,  anyway,  for — tell  'ee  the  truth — you're  the 
very  man  I  was  looking  for." 

"  Really  ?  "  says  Abe,  like  one  interested. 

"  You  and  no  other.     I  don't  mind  telling  'ee 

I've    been    through    a    fire    of    temptation.     You 

know  why  I  jumped  into  that  boat:    it  vexed  you 

276 


PEISONERS   OF  WAR 

a  bit,  I  dare  say.  And  strickly  speakin',  mind 
you  " — Billy  took  his  friend  by  the  button-hole — 
"  strickly  speakin'  I'd  the  right  on  my  side.  '  Let 
the  best  man  win  '  was  our  agreement.  But  you 
needn'  to  fret  yourself:  /  ben't  the  man  to  take 
an  advantage  of  an  old  friend,  fair  though  it  be. 
Man,  I  ha'n't  been  to  Ardevora — I  turned  back. 
So  finish  your  beer  and  come'st  along  wath  me,, 
and  we'll  walk  down  to  Selina  Johns  together  and 
ask  her  which  of  us  she'll  choose,  fair  and  square." 

Abe  set  down  his  mug  and  looked  up,  studying 
the  signboard  over  the  door. 

"  Well,"  says  he,  "  'tis  a  real  relief  to  my  mind 
to  know  you've  played  so  fair.  For  man  and  boy, 
Bill,  I  ahvays  thought  it  of  you." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  says  Billy,  "  man  and  boy,  it 
always  was  my  motto." 

"  But  as  consarnin'  Selina  Johns,"  Abe  went 
on,  "  there  ain't  no  such  woman." 

"  You  don't  tell  me  she's  dead  !  " 

"K'o;  'tis  her  first  husband  that's  dead.  She's 
Selina  AVidlake  now." 

"  How^  long  have  'ee  knowed  that  ? " 

"  Maybe   an   hour,   maybe   only  three-quarters. 

Her  name's   Selina  "Widlake,  and  she  owns  this 

here  public.     AA'hat's  more,  her  name  isn't  going 

to    be    Selina    Widlake,    but    Selina    Cummins. 

277 


PRISONEKS  OF  WAE 

We've  fixed  it  np,  and  she's  to  leave  Nancledrea 
and  take  the  Welcome  Home  over  to  Ardevora." 

Billy  Bosistow  took  a  turn  across  the  road,  and, 
coming  back,  stuck  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and 
stared  up  at  the  sign  overhead. 

"  Well  !     And  I,  that  was  too  honourable " 

he  began. 

"  So  you  was,"  agreed  Abe,  pulling  out  his 
pipe.  "  You  can't  think  what  a  comfort  that  is 
to  me.  But,  as  it  turns  out,  'twoukln't  have 
made  no  difference.  For  she  see'd  you  last 
evenin',  and  she  was  tellin'  me  just  now  that 
prison  hadn't  improved  you.  In  fact  she  didn't 
like  either  your  looks  or  your  behaviour." 

I've  heard  that  he  was  just  in  time  to  pop 
inside  and  bolt  the  door  after  him.  And  now 
you  know  why  Billy  Bosistow  and  Abe  Cummins 
could  never  bear  the  sight  of  each  other  from 
that  day.  But  there  !  you  can't  be  first  and  last 
too,  as  the  saying  is. 


278 


X 
A  TOWN'S  MEMORY 

A  Pcndayit  to  the  Foregoing 

The  returned  Emigrant  was  not  one  of  tliose 
who  sometimes  creep  back  to  Tregarrick  and  scan 
the  folk  wistfully  and  the  names  over  the  shops 
till  thej  bethink  themselves  of  stepping  up  the 
hill  to  take  a  look  at  the  cemetery,  and  there  find 
all  they  sought.  This  man  stood  under  the  arch- 
way of  the  Pack-horse  Inn  (by  A.  Walters), 
with  his  soft  hat  tilted  over  his  nose,  a  cigar  in 
his  mouth,  hands  in  his  trouser  pockets,  and  legs 
a-straddle,  and  smoked  and  eyed  the  passers-by 
with  a  twinkle  of  humour. 

He  knew  them  all  again,  or  nearly  all.  He 
had  quitted  Tregarrick  for  the  Cape  at  the  age  of 
fifteen,  under  the  wing  of  a  cousin  from  the 
Mining  District,  had  made  money  out  there,  and 
meant  to  retm-n  to  make  more,  and  was  home 
just  now  on  a  holiday,   with  gold  in  his  pocket 

279 


A  TOWN'S  MEMORY 

and  tlie  merest  trace  of  silver  in  liis  hair.  He 
watched  the  people  passing,  and  it  all  seemed 
very  queer  to  him  and  amusing. 

They  were  one  and  all  acting  and  behaving 
just  as  they  had  used  to  act  and  behave.  Some 
were  a  trifle  greyer,  perhaps,  and  others  stooped 
a  bit;  but  they  went  about  their  business  in  the 
old  fashion,  and  their  occupations  had  not  changed. 
It  was  just  as  if  he  had  wound  up  a  clockwork 
toy  before  leaving  England,  and  had  returned 
after  many  years  to  find  it  still  working.  Here 
came  old  Dymond,  the  postman,  with  the  usual 
midday  delivery,  light  as  ever,  and  the  well- 
remembered  dot-and-go-one  gait.  The  maids 
who  came  out  to  take  the  letters  were  different; 
in  one  of  them  the  Emigrant  recognised  a  little 
girl  who  had  once  sat  facing  him  in  the  Wesleyan 
day-school;  but  the  bells  that  fetched  them  out 
were  those  on  which  he  had  sounded  runaway 
peals  in  former  days,  and  with  his  eyes  shut  he 
could  have  sworn  to  old  Dymond 's  double-knock. 
The  cart  that  rattled  its  load  of  empty  cans  up 
the  street  belonged  to  Nicholas  Retallack  ("  Old 
Nick "),  the  milkman,  and  that  was  Retallack 
beside  it,  returning  from  his  morning  round.  The 
Emigrant    took    the    cigar   from   his   mouth    and 

blew  a  lazy  cloud.     But  for  Retallack  he  might 

280 


A  TOWN'S  MEMORY 

never  have  seen  South  Africa  or  known  Johannes- 
burg. Retallack  had  caught  him  surreptitiously 
milking  the  Alderney  into  a  battered  straw  hat, 
and  had  threatened  a  sununons.  There  had  been 
a  previous  summons  wdth  a  conviction,  and  the 
Mayor  had  hinted  at  the  Reformatory,  so  the 
Emigrant  had  been  packed  off.  And  here  he 
was,  back  again;  and  here  was  Retallack  trudging 
around,  the  same  as  ever. 

In  the  window  across  the  road  a  saddler  sat 
cutting  out  a  strap,  and  reminding  the  Emigrant 
of  a  certain  First  of  April  wdien  he  had  vent- 
ured in  and  inquired  for  half  a  pint  of  strap- 
oil.  It  might  almost  be  the  same  strap,  as  it 
certainly  was  the  same  saddler. 

Down  at  the  street  corner,  by  the  clock,  a 
couple  of  Town  Councillors  stood  chatting. 
While  the  Emigrant  looked  there  came  round 
the  corner  a  ruck  of  boys  from  school  chivvying 
and  shouting  after  an  ungainly  man,  who  turned 
twice  and  threatened  them  with  a  stick.  The 
Town  Councillors  did  not  interfere,  and  the  rabble 
passed  bawling  by  the  Pack-horse.  Long  before 
it  came  the  Emigrant  had  recognised  the  un- 
gainly man.  It  was  Dicky  Loony,  the  town  butt. 
He   had   chivvied   the   imbecile   a  hundred   times 

in  just  the  same  fashion,  yelling  "  Black  Cat  !  " 

281 


A  TOWN'S  MEMORY 

after  liim  as  these  yoimg  imps  were  yelling — 
though  why  "  Black  Cat  "  neither  he  nor  the  imps 
could  have  told.  But  Dicky  had  always  resented 
it  as  he  resented  it  now,  wheeling  round,  shaking 
his  stick,  and  sputtering  maledictions.  A  stone 
or  two  flew  harmlessly  by.  The  Emigrant  did 
not  interfere. 

As  yet  no  one  had  recognised  him.  He  had 
arrived  the  night  before,  and  taken  a  room  at  the 
Pack-horse,  nobody  asking  his  name;  had  sat  after 
supper  in  a  comer  of  the  smoking-room  and  lis- 
tened to  the  gossip  there,  saying  nothing. 

"  Who's  he  travellin'  for  ? "  somebody  had 
asked  of  Abel  Walters,  the  landlord.  "  He  ain't 
a  commercial.  He  han't  got  the  trunks,  only  a 
kit-bag.  By  the  soft  hat  he  wears  I  should  say 
a  agent  in  advance.  Likely  we'll  have  a  circus 
before  long." 

His  father  and  mother  were  dead  these  ten 
years.  He  had  sent  home  money  to  pay  the 
funeral  expenses  and  buy  a  substantial  headstone. 
But  he  had  not  been  up  to  the  cemetery  yet. 
He  was  not  a  sentimental  man.  Still,  he  had 
expected  his  return  to  make  some  little  stir  in 
Tregarrick,  and  now  a  shade  of  disappointment 
began  to  creep  over  his  humour. 

He    flung    away    the    end    of    his    cigar    and 

282 


A  TOWN'S  MEIilORY 

strolled  up  the  sunny  pavement  to  a  sweetshop 
where  lie  had  once  bought  ha'porths  of  liquorice 
and  cinnamon-rock.  The  legend,  "  E.  Hosking, 
Maker  of  Cheesecakes  to  Queen  Victoria,"  still 
decorated  the  window.  He  entered  and  de- 
manded a  pound  of  best  "  fairing,"  smiling  at 
the  magnificence  of  the  order.  Mrs.  Hosking — 
her  white  mob-cap  and  apron  clean  as  ever — 
offered  him  a  macaroon  for  luck,  and  weighed 
out  the  sweets.  Her  hand  shook  more  than  of 
old. 

"  You  don't  remember  me,  Mrs.  Hosking  ?  " 

"  What  is  it  you  say  ?  You  must  speak  a 
little  louder,  please,  I'm  deaf." 

"  You  don't  remember  me  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't,"  she  said  composedly.  "  I'm 
gone  terrible  blind  this  last  year  or  two." 

The  Emigrant  paid  for  his  sweets  and  walked 
out  He  had  bought  them  with  a  purpose,  and 
now  bent  his  steps  down  Market  Street.  At  the 
foot  of  the  hill  he  paused  before  a  row  of  white- 
washed cottages.  A  green  fence  ran  along  their 
front,  and  a  pebbled  path;  and  here  he  found  a 
stout,  matronly  woman  bent  over  a  wash-tub. 

"  Does  Mrs.  Best  live  here  ? "  he  asked. 

The  woman  withdrew  about  a  dozen  pins  from 

her  mouth  and  answered  all  in  one  breath: — 

283 


A  TOWN'S  MEMORY 

"  She  isn't  called  Best  any  longer;  she  married 
agen  five  year  ago;  second  hushing,  he  died  too; 
she  doesn'  live  here  any  more." 

With  this  she  stuck  the  pins  very  deliberately, 
one  by  one,  in  the  bosom  of  her  print  gown,  and 
plunged  her  hands  into  the  wash-tub  again. 

The  EmigTant  stood  nonplussed  for  a  moment 
and  scratched  the  back  of  his  head,  tilting  his 
soft  hat  still  further  forward  on  his  nose. 

"  She  used  to  be  very  fond  of  me  when  I  was 
a  boy,"  he  said  lamely. 

"  Yes  ?  "  The  tone  seemed  to  ask  what  busi- 
ness that  could  be  of  hers. 

"  She  came  as  nurse  to  my  mother  when  I  was 
born.  I  suppose  that  made  her  take  a  fancy  to 
me." 

"  Ah,  no  doubt,"  replied  the  woman  vaguely, 
and  added,  while  she  soaped  a  long  black  stock- 
ing, "  she  did  a  lot  o'  that,  one  time  and  another." 

"  She  had  a  little  girl  of  her  own  before  I  left 
Trcgarrick,"  the  Emigrant  persisted,  not  because 
she  appeared  interested — she  did  not,  at  all — but 
with  some  vague  hope  of  making  himself  appear 
a  little  less  trivial.  "  Lizzie  she  called  her.  I 
suppose  you  don't  know  what  has  become  of  the 
old  woman  ?  " 

"  Well,    considerin'     that    I'm    her    daughter 

284 


A  TOWN'S  MEMOEY 

Elizabeth " — she  lengthened  the  name  with  an 
implied  reproof — "  I  reckon  I  ought  to  know." 

The  Emigrant's  hand  sought  and  crushed  the 
big  packet  of  sweets  well  into  his  pocket.  He 
flushed  scarlet.  At  the  same  time  he  could  hardly 
keep  back  a  smile  at  his  absurd  mistake.  To  be 
here  with  lollipops  for  a  woman  of  thirty  and 
more  ! 

"  You  haven't  any  little  ones  of  your  own  ?  " 

"  No,  I  haven't.     Why  ?  " 

"Oh,  well;  only  a  question.  My  name  is 
Peter  Jago — Pete,  I  used  to  be  called." 

"  Yes  ? " 

He  took  notice  that  she  had  said  nothing  of 
her  mother's  whereabouts;  and  concluded,  right- 
ly, that  the  old  woman  must  be  in  the  work- 
house. 

"Well,  I'm  sorry,"  he  said.  "I  thought  I 
might  be  able  to  do  something  for  her." 

The  woman  became  attentive  at  last. 

"  Any  small  trifle  you  might  think  o'  leavin' 
with  me,  sir,  it  should  duly  reach  her.  She've 
failed  a  lot,  lately." 

"  Thank  you;  I'll  ihink  it  over.     Good-day." 

He    strolled    back    to   the    Pack-horse    and    ate 

his  dinner.     Abel  "Walters,  coming  in  after  with 

a  pint  of  port  to  his  order,  found  the  Emigrant 

285 


A  TOWN'S  MEMOEY 

with    a    great    packet    of    sugared    almonds    and 
angelica  spread  open  beside  his  cheese. 

"  I  suppose,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Walters,  eyeing  the 
heap,  "  you've  travelled  a  great  deal  in  foreign 
parts." 

Tvs^o  days  passed.  The  Emigrant  visited  the 
cemetery,  inspected  his  parents'  tombstone,  and 
found  about  it  a  number  of  tombstones  belonging 
to  people  vs'hose  faces  he  had  not  hitherto  missed. 
But  after  his  experiment  upon  Elizabeth  Best  he 
had  not  declared  himself  a  second  time.  Indeed, 
his  humour  by  this  had  turned  sour,  and  his  mind 
was  made  up  that,  if  no  one  recogTiised  him  spon- 
taneously, he  would  leave  his  native  town  as 
quietly  as  he  had  come — would  go  back  without 
revealing  himself  to  a  soul.  It  would  be  unfair 
to  say  that  he  felt  aggrieved;  but  he  certainly 
dismissed  a  project,  with  which  he  had  often 
played  in  South  Africa,  of  erecting  a  public  drink- 
ing -  fountain  on  Mount  Folly,  as  the  citizens  of 
Tregarrick  call  the  slope  in  front  of  the  County 
Assize  Hall. 

The  third   day   was   Sunday,   and   he  went  to 

Church  in  the  morning.     The  Vicar  who  preached 

was  a  stranger  to  him,  but  in  the  sidesman  who 

came  down  the  aisle  afterwards  with  the  ofFertory- 

286 


A  TOWN'S  IiIEMORY 

plate  he  recognised  one  Billy  Sniitliers,  who  had 
been  a  crony  of  his  some  twenty  years  ago;  who 
had,  in  fact,  helped  him  more  than  once  to  milk 
Retallack's  Alderney.  He  felt  in  his  pocket  and 
dropped  a  sovereign  into  the  plate.  The  sides- 
man halted  and  rnbbed  his  chin, 

"  Han't  vou  made  a  mistake  ?  "  he  asked  in  a 
stage  whisper. 

The  Emigrant  \vaYed  his  hand  in  rather  a  lordly 
manner,  and  William  Smithers,  sidesman,  pro- 
ceeded down  the  aisle,  wondering,  but  not  sus- 
pecting. 

The  Vicar  recited  the  prayer  for  the  whole 
state  of  Christ's  Church  militant  here  on  earth, 
and  the  Emigrant  joined  the  crowd  trooping  out 
by  the  western  door. 

But  in  the  press  just  outside  the  door  two 
hands  suddenly  seized  his  right  liand  and  shook 
it  violently.  He  tm-ned  and  faced  —  Dicky 
Loonv. 

"  Me  know,  eh  ?  Pete— Mas'r  Pete  !  "  The 
idiot  bent  over  his  hand  and  mumbled  it  with 
his  wry  mouth,  then  shook  it  again,  peering  up 
in  his  face.  "  Eh  ?  Pete— Pete.  Yes.  All- 
right  !  " 

The    EmigTant    looked     down     on     this    poor 

creature  at  wliom  in  his  time  he  had  flunc;  scores 

287 


A  TOWN'S  MEMOEY 

of  stones,  but  never  a  kind  word.  And  the  idiot 
ran  on: — 

"  Dicky,  eh  ?  " — tapping  his  chest.  "  You 
know — Dickv.  Pete — Pete,  eh  ?  " — and  he  made 
the  gesture  of  one  flinging  a  stone.  "  Often, 
ha,  ha  !  So  high."  He  spread  his  hand,  palm 
downward,  about  five  feet  from  the  ground. 

"  Well,  I'm  blest  !  "  said  the  Emigrant  softly. 
They  stood  now  on  the  gi'een  together,  a  little 
apart  from  the  crowd. 

"  Bo  high,  eh  ?  Li'l  boy,  eh  ?  Fling — me 
know  !  "  He  took  the  Emigrant's  hand  again 
and  shook  it,  smiling  and  looking  him  straight 
in  the  eyes  with  innocent  gaiety,  "  These  boys 
— no  good;  no  good  now.  Pete,  he  fling  so. 
Li'l  boy — quite  li'l  boy.  Me  know,  eh  ?  Dicky 
know  !  " 

"Well,"  repeated  the  Emigrant;  "I'm  blest, 
but  this  is  funny  !  " 


288 


XI 
THE  LADY  OF  THE  RED  ADMIRALS 

*^AU  day  within  the  dreamy  house 

The  doors  vpon  their  hinges  creaked, 
The  Hue  fly  sung  in  the  pane ;   the  mouse 

Behind  the  mouldering  wainscot  shrieked, 
Or  from  the  crevice  peer'd  about. 

Old  faces  glimmer'd  thro'  the  doors, 

Old  footsteps  trod  the  upper  floors. 
Old  voices  called  her  from  without," — Mabiana. 

My  eyes  had  been  occupied  with  the  grey  chim- 
neys below,  among  the  Spanish  chestnuts,  at  the 
very  moment  when  I  slipped  on  the  northern 
face  of  Skirrid  and  twisted  my  ankle.  This  in- 
deed explains  the  accident;  and  the  accident  ex- 
plains why  my  interest  in  tlic  liou^^o  with  the  grey 
chimneys  suddenly  became  a  personal  one.  Five 
miles  separated  me  from  my  inn  in  Aber  town. 
But  the  white  smoke  of  a  goods  train  went  crawling 
across  the  green  and  cultivated  plain  at  my  feet; 
and  I  knew,  though  I  carried  no  map,  that  some- 
where under  the  slope  to  my  left  must  hide  the 

289 


THE  LADY 

country  station   of  Llanfiliangel.     To  reach  it  I 
must  pass  tlie  house,  and  there,  no  doubt,  would 
happen   on   someone   to   set   me   on   the   shortest 
way. 

So  I  picked  up  my  walking-stick  and  hobbled 
down  the  hillside,  albeit  with  pain.  Where  the 
descent  eased  a  little  I  found  and  followed  a  foot- 
track,  which  in  time  turned  into  a  sunk  road 
scored  deep  with  old  cart-ruts,  and  so  brought  me 
to  a  desolate  farmstead,  slowly  dropping  to  ruin 
there  in  the  perpetual  shadow  of  the  mountain. 
The  slates  that  had  fallen  from  the  roof  of  byre 
and  stable  lay  buried  already  under  the  growth  of 
nettle  and  mallow  and  wild  parsnip;  and  the  yard- 
wall  was  down  in  a  dozen  places.  I  shuffled 
through  one  of  these  gaps,  and  almost  at  once 
found  myself  face  to  face  with  a  park-fence  of 
split  oak — in  yet  worse  repair,  if  that  were  pos- 
sible. It  stretched  away  right  and  left,  with 
promise  of  a  noble  circmiif erence ;  but  no  hand 
had  repaired  it  for  at  least  twenty  years.  I 
counted  no  less  than  seven  breaches  through  which 
a  man  of  common  size  might  step  without  squeez- 
ing; availed  myself  of  the  nearest;  and  having 
with  difficulty  dragged  my  disabled  foot  up  the 
ha-ha  slope  beyond,  took  breath  at  the  top  and 

looked  about  me. 

290 


OF  THE   RED  ADMIRALS 

The  edge  of  the  ha-ha  stood  but  fifty  paces 
back  from  an  avenue  of  the  most  maonificent 
Spanish  chestnuts  I  have  ever  seen  in  my  life.  A 
few  of  them  were  withering  from  the  top;  and 
under  these  many  dead  boughs  lay  as  they  had 
fallen,  in  grass  that  obliterated  almost  all  trace 
of  the  broad  carriage-road.  But  nine  out  of  ten 
stood  hale  and  stout,  and  apparently  good  for 
centuries  to  come.  Northward,  the  grey  facade 
of  the  house  glimmered  and  closed  their  green 
prospective,  and  towards  it  I  now  made  my 
way. 

But,  I  must  own,  this  avenue  daunted  me,  as 
a  frame  altogether  too  lordly  for  a  mere  limping 
pedestrian.  And  therefore  I  was  relieved,  as  I 
drew  near,  to  catch  the  sound  of  voices  behind  the 
shrubberies  on  my  right  hand.  This  determined 
me  to  take  the  house  in  flank,  and  I  diverged  and 
pushed  my  way  between  the  laurels  in  search  of 
the  speakei-s. 

"  A  horse,  a  horse  !  My  kingdom  for  a  horse  ! 
Lobelia,  how  many  horses  has  your  father  in 
stable  ?     Red,  white,  or  grey  ?  " 

"  One,  ^riss  Wilhelmina ;  an'  that's  old  Sentry- 
go,  and  father  says  lieUl  have  to  go  to  the  knacker's 
before  another  winter." 

"Then  he  shall  carry  me  there  on  his  back: 

291 


THE  LADY 

with    rings    on    my     fingers     and     bells    on    my 
toes — 

She  rode  unto  the  knacker's  yard, 

And  tirl^d  at  the  pin: 
Right  glad  were  then  the  cat's-meat  men 

To  let  that  lady  in  ! 

— especially    Lobelia,  when  she  alighted  and  sat 
upon    the    ground    and    began    to   tell    them    sad 
stories  of  the  death  of  kings.     But  they  cut  off 
Sentry-go's  head  and  nailed  it  over  the  gate.     So 
he  died,  and  she  very  imprudently  married  the  mas- 
ter knacker,  who  had  heard  she  was  an  heiress  in 
her  own  right,  and  wanted  to  decorate  his  coat-of- 
arms  with  an  escutcheon  of  pretence;  and  besides, 
his  doctor  had  recommended  a  complete  change  " — 
"  Law,  miss,  how  you  do  run  on  !  " 
The   young  lady  who   had  given  utterance   to 
this  amazing  rigmarole  stood  at  the  top  of  a  ter- 
race flight   (much  cracked  and  broken)   between 
two  leaden  statuettes  (headless) — a  willowy  child 
in  a  large-brimmed  hat,  with  a  riding-switch  in 
one  hand  and  the  other  holding  up  an  old  tartan 
shawl,  which  she  had  pinned  about  her  to  imitate 
a  horse-woman's  habit.     As  she  paced  to  and  fro 
between  the  leaden  statuettes — 

pedes  vestis  defluxit  ad  imos 
Et  vera  incessu  patuit  dea, 
292 


OF  THE  RED  ADMIRALS 

— and  I  noted  almost  at  once  that  two  or  three 
butterflies  (''  red  admirals "  they  were)  floated 
and  circled  about  her  in  the  sunlight.  A  child 
of  commoner  make,  and  perhaps  a  year  older, 
dressed  in  a  buff  print  frock  and  pink  sunbonnet, 
looked  up  at  her  from  the  foot  of  the  steps.  The 
faces  of  both  were  averted,  and  I  stood  there  for 
at  least  a  minute  on  the  verge  of  the  laurels,  un- 
observed, considering  the  picture  they  made,  and 
the  ruinous  Jacobean  house  that  formed  its  back- 
ground. 

Never  was  house  more  eloquent  of  desolation. 
Unpainted  shutters,  cracking  in  the  heat,  blocked 
one  half  of  its  windows.  AVeather-stains  ran 
down  the  slates  from  the  lantern  on  the  main  roof. 
The  lantern  over  the  stable  had  lost  its  vane,  and 
the  stable-clock  its  minute-hand.  The  very  nails 
had  dropped  out  of  the  gable  wall,  and  the  wis- 
taria and  Gloire  de  Dijons  they  should  have  sup- 
ported trailed  down  in  tangles,  like  curtains. 
Grass  choked  the  rain-pipes,  and  moss  dappled 
the  gravel  walk.  In  the  border  at  my  feet 
someone  had  attempted  a  clearance  of  the 
weeds;  and  here  lay  his  hoe,  matted  with  bind- 
weed and  ring-streaked  with  the  silvery  tracks  of 
snails. 

"  Very    well.    Lobelia.      "We    will    be    sensible 

293 


THE  LADY 

housemaid  and  cook,  and  talk  of  business.  We 
came  out,  I  believe,  to  cut  a  cabbage-leaf  to  make 
an  apple-pie  " — 

At  this  point  happening  to  turn  her  head  she 
caught  sight  of  me,  and  stopped  with  a  slight, 
embarrassed  laugh.     I  raised  my  hat. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  no  strangers  are 
admitted  here." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  " — I  began;  and  \vith  that, 
as  I  shifted  my  walking-stick,  my  foolish  ankle 
gave  way,  and  plump  I  sat  in  the  very  middle  of 
the  bindw^eed. 

"  You  are  ill  ? "  She  came  quickly  towards 
me,  but  halted  a  pace  or  two  off.  "  You  look  as 
if  you  were  going  to  faint." 

"  I'll  try  not  to,"  said  I.  "  The  fact  is,  I  have 
just  twisted  my  ankle  on  the  side  of  Skirrid,  and 
I  wished  to  be  told  the  shortest  way  to  the  sta- 
tion." 

"I  don't  believe  you  can  walk;  and" — she 
hesitated  a  second,  then  went  on  defiantly — "  we 
have  no  carriage  to  take  you." 

"  I  should  not  think  of  putting  you  to  any  such 
trouble." 

"  Also,  if  you  want  to  reach  Aber,  there  is  no 

train  for  the  next  two  hours.     You  must  come  in 

and  rest." 

294 


OF  THE   RED  ADMIRALS 
"  But  rcallv  "— 

V 

"  I  am  mistress  here.  I  am  Wilhelmina  Van 
der  Knoope." 

Being  by  this  time  on  my  feet  again,  I  bowed 
and  introduced  myself  by  name.  She  nodded. 
The  chikl  had  a  thoughtful  face — thoughtful  be- 
yond her  years — and  delicately  shaped  rather  than 
pretty. 

"  Lobelia,  run  in  and  tell  the  Admirals  that  a 
gentleman  has  called,  with  my  permission." 

Having  dismissed  the  handmaiden,  she  observed 
me  in  silence  for  a  few  moments  while  she  un- 
pinned her  tartan  riding-skirt.  Its  removal  dis- 
closed, not — as  I  had  expected — a  short  frock,  but 
one  of  quite  womanly  length;  and  she  carried  it 
with  the  air  of  a  grown  woman. 

"  You  must  make  allowances,  please.  I  think," 
she  mused,  "  yes,  I  really  think  you  will  be  able  to 
help.  But  you  must  not  be  surprised,  mind.  Can 
you  walk  alone,  or  will  you  lean  a  hand  on  my 
shoulder  ?  " 

I  could  walk  alone.     Of  what  she  meant  I  had 

of  course  no  inkling;  but  I  saw  she  was  as  anxious 

now  for   me   to   come   indoors   as   she   had   been 

prompt  at  first  to  warn  me  oif  the  premises.     So 

I  hobbled  after  her  towards  the  house.     At  the 

steps  by  the  side-door  she  turned  and  gave  me  a 

295 


THE  LADY 

hand.  We  passed  across  a  stone-flagged  hall  and 
through  a  carpetless  corridor,  which  brought  us  to 
the  foot  of  the  grand  staircase:  and  a  magnificent 
staircase  it  was,  ornate  with  twisted  balusters  and 
hung  with  fine  pictures,  mostly  by  old  Dutch 
masters.  But  no  carpet  covered  the  broad  steps, 
and  the  pictures  were  perishing  in  their  frames 
for  lack  of  varnish,  I  had  halted  to  stare  up  at 
a  big  Hondecoeter  that  hung  in  the  sunlight  over 
the  first  short-  flight  of  stairs — an  elaborate  "  Par- 
liament of  Fowls " — when  the  girl  turned  the 
handle  of  a  door  to  my  right  and  entered. 

"  Uncle  Peter,  here  is  the  gentleman  who  has 
called  to  see  you." 

As  I  crossed  the  threshold  I  heard  a  chair 
pushed  back,  and  a  very  old  gentleman  rose  to 
welcome  me  at  the  far  end  of  the  cool  and  shad- 
owy room;  a  tall  white-haired  figure  in  a  loose 
suit  of  holland.  He  did  not  advance,  but  held 
out  a  hand  tentatively,  as  if  uncertain  from  what 
direction  I  was  advancing.  Almost  at  once  I 
saw  that  he  was  stone-blind. 

"  But  where  is  TJncle  Melchior  ?  "  exclaimed 
Wilhelmina. 

"  I   believe    he   is   working   at    accounts,"    the 

old  gentleman  answered  —  addressing  himself  to 

vacancy,  for  she  had  already  run  from  the  room, 

29G 


OF  THE  RED  ADMIRALS 

He  shook  hands  courteously  and  motioned  me  to 
find  a  chair,  while  he  resumed  his  seat  beside  a 
little  table  heaped  with  letters,  or  rather  with 
bundles  of  letters  neatly  tied  and  docketed.  His 
right  hand  rested  on  these  bundles,  and  his  fingers 
tapped  upon  them  idly  for  a  minute  before  he 
spoke  again. 

"  You  are  a  friend  of  Fritz's  ?  of  my  grand- 
son ?  " 

"  I  have  not  the  pleasure  of  knowing  him,  sir. 
Your  niece's  introduction  leaves  me  to  explain  that 
I  am  just  a  wayfarer  who  had  the  misfortune  to 
twist  an  ankle,  an  hour  ago,  on  Skirrid,  and 
crawled  here  to  ask  his  way." 

His  face  fell.  "  I  was  hoping  that  you  brought 
news  of  Fritz.  But  you  are  welcome,  sir,  to  rest 
your  foot  here;  and  I  ask  your  pardon  for  not 
perceiving  your  misfortune.  I  am  blind.  But 
AVilhelmina — my  grandniece — will  attend  to  your 
wants." 

"  She  is  a  young  lady  of  very  large  heart," 
said  I. 

He  appeared  to  consider  for  a  while.  "  She  is 
with  me  dailv,  l)ut  I  liave  not  seen  her  since  she 
was  a  small  child,  and  I  always  picture  her  as  a 
child.     To  you,  no  doubt,  she  is  almost  a  woman 


grown 


297 


THE  LADY 

"  In  feeling,  I  should  say,  decidedly  more 
woman  than  child;  and  in  manner." 

"  You  please  me  by  saying  so.  She  is  to 
marry  Fritz,  and  I  wish  that  to  happen  before  I 
die." 

Receiving  no  answer  to  this — for,  of  course,  I 
had  nothing  to  say — he  startled  me  with  a  sudden 
question.  "  You  disapprove  of  cousins  marry- 
ing ?  " 

I  could  only  murmur  that  a  great  deal  depended 
on  circumstances. 

"  And  there  are  circumstances  in  this  case. 
Besides,  they  are  second  cousins  only.  And  they 
both  look  forward  to  it.  I  am  not  one  to  force 
their  inclinations,  you  understand — though,  of 
course,  they  know  it  to  be  my  wish — the  wish  of 
both  of  us,  I  may  say;  for  Melchior  is  at  one 
with  me  in  this.  Wilhelmina  accepts  her  future 
— speaks  of  it,  indeed,  with  gaiety.  And  as  for 
Fritz — though  they  have  not  seen  each  other  since 
he  was  a  mere  boy  and  she  an  infant — as  for 
Fritz,  he  writes — but  you  shall  judge  from  his  last 
letter." 

He  felt  among  the  packets  and  selected  one. 
"  I  know  one  from  t'other  by  the  knots,"  he  ex- 
plained.    "  I  am  an  old  seaman  !     ISTow  here  is 

his  last,  written  from   the   South  Pacific  station. 

298 


OF  THE   RED  ADMIRALS 

He  sends  his  love  to  'Mina,  and  jokes  about  her 
being  husband-high :  '  but  she  must  grow,  if  we 
are  to  do  credit  to  the  Van  der  Knoopes  at  the 
altar.'  It  seems  that  he  is  something  below  the 
traditional  height  of  our  family;  but  a  thorough 
seaman,  for  all  his  modesty.  There,  sir:  you 
will  find  the  passage  on  the  fourth  page,  near  the 
top." 

I  took  the  letter;  and  there,  to  be  sure,  read 
the  words  the  old  Admiral  had  quoted.  But  it 
struck  me  that  Fritz  Van  der  Knoopc  used  a  very 
ladylike  handwriting,  and  of  a  sort  not  usually 
taught  on  H.M.S.  Britannia. 

"  In  two  years'  time  the  lad  will  be  home,  all 
being  well.     And  then,  of  course,  we  shall  see." 

"  Of  what  rank  is  he  ?  " 

"  At  present  a  second  lieutenant.  His  age  is 
but  twenty-three.  The  Van  der  Knoopes  have  all 
followed  the  sea,  as  the  portraits  in  this  house  will 
tell  you.  Ay,  and  we  have  fought  against  Eng- 
land in  our  time.  As  late  as  1672,  Adrian  Van 
der  Knoope  commanded  a  ship  under  De  Ruyter 
when  he  outgeneralled  the  English  in  Southwold 
Bay.  But  since  1688  our  swords  have  been  at 
the  service  of  our  adopted  country;  and  she  has 
used  them,  sir." 

I   am    afraid    I   was   not   listening.     My   chair 

299 


THE  LADY 

faced  the  window,  and  as  I  glanced  at  the  letter 
in  my  hands  enough  light  filtered  through  the 
transparent  "  foreign "  paper  to  throw  up  the 
watermark,  and  it  bore  the  name  of  an  English 
firm. 

This  small  discovery,  quite  unwillingly  made, 
gave  me  a  sudden  sense  of  shame,  as  though  I  had 
been  playing  some  dishonourable  trick.  I  was 
hastily  folding  up  the  paper,  to  return  it,  when 
the  door  oj)ened  and  Wilhelmina  came  in,  with  her 
uncle  Melchior. 

She  seemed  to  divine  in  an  instant  what  had 
happened;  threw  a  swift  glance  at  the  blind  Ad- 
miral, and  almost  as  swiftly  took  the  letter  from 
my  hand  and  restored  it  to  the  packet.  The  next 
moment,  with  perfect  coolness  she  was  introducing 
me  to  her  uncle  Melchior. 

Melchior  Van  der  Knoope  was  perhaps  ten  years 
younger  than  his  brother,  and  carried  his  tall 
figure  buttoned  up  tightly  in  an  old-fashioned 
frockcoat:  a  mummy  of  a  man,  with  a  fixed  air 
of  mild  bewilderment,  and  a  trick  of  running  his 
left  hand  through  his  white  hair — due,  no  doubt, 
to  everlasting  difficulty  with  the  family  accoimts. 
He  shook  hands  as  ceremoniously  as  his  brother. 

"  We  have  been  talking  of  Fritz,"  said  old 
Peter. 

300 


OF  THE  RED  ADMIKALS 

"  Oh  yes — of  Fritz.  To  be  sure."  Melchior 
answered  bim  vaguely,  and  looked  at  me  with  a 
puzzled  smile.  There  was  silence  in  the  room  till 
his  brother  spoke  again.  "  I  have  been  showing 
Mr.  Fritz's  last  letter." 

"  Fritz  writes  entertainingly,"  mumiured  Mel- 
chior, and  seemed  to  cast  about  for  another  word, 
but  repeated,  "  — entertainingly.  If  the  state  of 
your  ankle  permits,  sir,  you  will  perhaps  take  an 
interest  in  our  pictiu-es.  I  shall  be  happy  to 
show  them  to  you." 

And  so,  with  the  occasional  support  of  Melchior's 
arm,  I  began  a  tour  of  the  house.  The  pictures 
indeed  were  a  sufficient  reward — seascapes  by 
Willem  Van  der  Velde,  flower-portraits  by  Willem 
Van  Aslet,  tavern-scenes  by  Adrian  Van  Ostade; 
a  notable  Cuyp;  a  small  Gerard  Dow  of  peculiar 
richness;  portraits — the  Burgomaster  Albert  Van 
der  Knoope,  by  Thomas  de  Keyser — the  Admiral 
Nicholas,  by  Kneller — the  Admiral  Peter  (grand- 
uncle  of  the  blind  Admiral),  by  Romney  .  .  . 
My  guide  seemed  as  honestly  proud  of  them  as 
insensible  of  their  condition,  which  was  in  almost 
every  case  deplorable.  By-and-by,  in  the  library 
we  came  upon  a  modern  portrait  of  a  rosy-faced 
boy  in  a  blue  suit,  who  held  (strange  combina- 
tion !)  a  large  ribstone  ]iippin  in  one  hand  and  a 

301 


THE  LADY 

cricket  bat  in  the  other — a  picture  altogether  of 
such  glaring  demerit  that  I  wondered  for  a  mo- 
ment whj  it  hung  so  conspicuously  over  the  fire- 
place, while  worthier  paintings  were  thrust  into 
obscure  corners.  Tlien  with  a  sudden  inkling  I 
glanced  at  Uncle  Melchior.     He  nodded  gravely. 

"  That  is  Fritz." 

I  pulled  out  my  watch.  "  I  believe,"  I  said, 
"  it  must  be  time  for  me  to  bid  your  brother  good- 
bye." 

"  You  need  be  in  no  hurry,"  said  Miss  Wilhel- 
mina's  voice  behind  me.  "  The  last  train  to  Aber 
has  gone  at  least  ten  mmutes  since.  You  must 
dine  and  sleep  with  us  to-night." 

I  awoke  next  morning  between  sheets  of  sweet- 
smelling  linen  in  a  carved  four-post  bed,  across 
the  head-board  of  which  ran  the  motto  "  stemmata 
Qvro  FACiVNT  "  in  faded  letters  of  gilt.  If  the 
appearance  of  the  room,  with  its  tattered  hangings 
and  rickety  furniture,  had  counted  for  anything, 
my  dreams  should  certainly  have  been  haunted. 
But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  never  slept  better. 
Possibly  the  lightness  of  the  dinner  (cooked  by 
the  small  handmaid  Lobelia)  had  something  to  do 
with  it;  possibly,  too,  the  infectious  somnolence  of 
the  two  Admirals,  who  spoke  but  little  during  the 
meal,  and  nodded,  without  attempt  at  dissimula- 


OF  THE   RED  ADMIRALS 

tion,  over  the  dessert.  At  any  rate,  shortly  after 
nine  o'clock — when  Miss  AVilhelraina  brought  out 
a  heavy  Church  Service,  and  Uncle  Melchior  read 
the  lesson  and  collect  for  the  day  and  a  few- 
prayers,  including  the  one  "  For  those  at  Sea  " — 
I  had  felt  quite  ready  for  bed.  And  now,  thanks 
to  a  cold  compress,  my  ankle  had  mended  consid- 
erably. I  descended  to  breakfast  in  veiy  cheerful 
mind,  and  found  Miss  "Wilhelmina  alone  at  the 
table. 

"  Uncle  Peter,"  she  explained,  "  rarely  comes 
down  before  mid-day;  and  Uncle  Melchior  break- 
fasts in  his  room.     He  is  busy  with  the  accounts." 

"  So  early  ?  " 

She  smiled  rather  sadly.  "  They  take  a  deal  of 
looking  after." 

She  asked  how  my  ankle  did.  ^hen  I  told 
her,  and  added  that  I  must  catch  an  early  train 
back  to  Aber,  she  merely  said,  "  I  will  walk  to 
the  station  with  you,  if  I  may." 

And  so  at  ten  o'clock — after  I  had  bidden  fare- 
well to  Uncle  Melchior,  who  wore  the  air  of  one 
interrupted  in  a  long  sum  of  compound  addition — 
we  set  forth.  I  knew  the  child  had  something  on 
her  mind,  and  waited.  Once,  by  a  ruinous  foun- 
tain  where   a   stone   Triton  blew   patiently  at   a 

conch-shell  plugged  vnth  turf,  she  paused  and  dug 

303 


THE  LADY 

at  tlie  mortared  joints  of  the  basin  with  the  point 
of  her  sunshade;  and  I  thought  the  confidence 
was  coming.  But  it  was  by  the  tumble-down  gate 
at  the  end  of  the  chestnut  avenue  that  she  turned 
and  faced  me. 

"  I  knew  you  yesterday  at  once/'  she  said. 
"  You  write  novels." 

"  I  wish,"  said  I  feebly,  "  the  public  were  as 
quick  at  discovering  me." 

"  Somebody  printed  an  '  interview '  with  you 
in  's  Magazine  a  month  or  two  ago." 

"  There  was  not  the  slightest  resemblance." 

"  Please  don't  be  silly.  There  was  a  photo- 
graph." 

"  Ah,  to  be  sure." 

"  You  can  helj)  me  —  help  us  all  —  if  you 
will." 

"  Is  it  about  Fritz  ?  " 

She  bent  her  head  and  signed  to  me  to  open 
the  gate.  Across  the  high-road  a  stile  faced  us, 
and  a  little  church,  with  an  acre  framed  in  elms 
and  set  about  with  trimmed  yews.  She  led  the 
way  to  the  low  and  whitewashed  porch,  and 
pushed  open  the  iron-studded  door.  As  I  fol- 
lowed, the  name  of  Van  der  Knoope  repeated 
itself  on  many  mural  tablets.  Almost  at  the  end 
of  the  south  aisle,  she  paused  and  lifted  a  finger. 

304 


OF  THE    RED  ADMIRALS 

I  read — 

Sacred 

To  the  Memory  of 

Fritz  Opdam  de  Keyser  van  der  Knoope 

A  Midshipman  of  the  Royal  Navy 

Who  was  born  Oct.  21st  mdccclxvii. 

And  Drowned 

By  the  Capsizing  of  H.M.S.  Viper 

off  the  North  Coast  of  Ireland 

On  the  17th  of  January  mdccclxxxv. 

A  youth  of  peculiar  promise  who  lacked 

but  the  greater  indulgence  of 

an  all-Avise  Providence 

to  earn  the  distinction  of  his  forefathers 

(of  whom  he  was  the  last  male  representative) 

in  his  Country's  service 

in  which 

he  laid  down  his  young  life 


Heu  miserande  puer  I    Si  qua  fata  aspera  rumpas 
Tu  Marcellus  eris. 

"  Uncle    Melchior    had    it    set   up.     I    wonder 

what  Fritz  was  really  like." 

"  And  your  Uncle  Peter  still  believes —  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes.     I  am  to  marry  Fritz  in  time.     That 

is  where  you  must  help  us.     It  would  kill  Uncle 

Peter   if   he    knew.      But    Uncle    Melchior   gets 

puzzled  whenever  it  comes  to  writing;  and  I  am 

afraid     of    making    mistakes.     We've    put     him 

down   in   the   South   Pacific   station   at   present — 

305 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  KED  ADMIRALS 

that  will  last  for  two  years  more.  But  we  have 
to  invent  the  gossip,  you  know.  And  I  thought 
that  you — who  wrote  stories — " 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  I  said,  "  let  me  be 
Fritz,  and  you  shall  have  a  letter  duly  once  a 
month." 

And  my  promise  was  kept — until,  two  years 
ago,  she  wTote  that  there  was  no  fm-ther  need 
for  letters,  for  Uncle  Peter  was  dead.  For  aught 
I  know,  by  this  time  Uncle  Melchior  may  be  dead 
also.  But  regularly,  as  the  monthly  date  comes 
round,  I  am  Fritz  Opdam  de  Keyser  van  der 
Knoope,  a  young  midshipman  of  Her  Majesty's 
iN'avy;  and  wonder  what  my  affianced  bride  is 
doing;  and  see  her  on  the  terrace  steps  with  those 
butterflies  floating  about  her.  In  my  part  of  the 
world  it  is  believed  that  the  souls  of  the  departed 
pass  into  these  winged  creatures.  So  might  the 
souls  of  those  many  pictured  Admirals:  but  some 
day,  before  long,  I  hope  to  cross  Skirrid  again 
and  see. 


30G 


XII 
THE  PENANCE  OF  JOHN  EMMET 

I  HAVE  thought  fit  in  this  story  to  alter  all  the 
names  involved  and  disguise  the  actual  scene  of 
it:  and  have  done  this  so  carefully  that,  al- 
though the  story  has  a  key,  the  reader  who  should 
search  for  it  would  not  only  waste  his  time  but 
miss  even  the  poor  satisfaction  of  having  guessed 
an  idle  riddle.  He  whom  I  call  Parson  West  is 
now  dead.  He  was  an  entirely  conscientious 
man;  which  means  that  he  would  rather  do 
wrong  himself  than  persuade  or  advise  another 
man — above  all,  a  yoimg  man — to  do  it.  I  am 
sure  therefore  that  in  burying  the  body  of  John 
Emmet  as  he  did,  and  enlisting  my  help,  he  did 
what  he  thought  right,  though  the  action  was 
undoubtedly  an  illegal  one.  Still,  the  question 
is  one  for  casuists;  and  remembering  how  modest 
a  value  my  old  friend  set  on  his  own  wisdom,  I 
dare  say  that  by  keeping  his  real  name   out  of 

the   narrative    I    am   obeying    what    would    have 

307 


THE  PENANCE   OF  JOHN  EMMET 

been  his  wish.  His  small  breach  of  the  law  he 
was  (I  know)  prepared  to  answer  for  cheerfully, 
shonkl  the  facts  come  to  light.  He  has  now  gone 
where  their  discovery  affects  him  not  at  all. 

Parson  West,  then,  when  I  made  his  acquaint- 
ance in  18 8-,  had  for  thirty  years  been  Vicar 
of  the  coast-parish  of  Lansulyan.  He  had  come 
to  it  almost  fresh  from  Oxford,  a  young  scholar 
with  a  head  full  of  Greek,  having  accepted  the 
living  from  his  old  college  as  a  step  towards  pre- 
ferment. He  was  never  to  be  offered  another. 
Lansulyan  parish  is  a  wide  one  in  acreage,  and 
the  stipend  exiguous  even  for  a  bachelor.  From 
the  first  the  Parson  eked  out  his  income  by  pre- 
paring small  annotated  editions  of  the  Classics 
for  the  use  of  Schools  and  by  taking  occasional 
pupils,  of  whom  in  188-  I  was  the  latest.  He 
could  not  teach  me  scholarship,  which  is  a  habit 
of  mind;  but  he  could,  and  in  the  end  did,  teach 
me  how  to  win  a  scholarship,  which  is  a  sum  of 
money  paid  annually.  I  have  therefore  a  prac- 
tical reason  for  thinking  of  him  with  gratitude: 
and  I  believe  he  liked  me,  while  despising  my 
Latinity  and  discommending  my  precociousness 
with  tobacco. 

His   pupils    could    never    complain    of    distrac- 
tion.    The   church-town — a   single   street   of  cot- 

308 


THE   PENANCE   OF  JOHN   EMMET 

tages  winding  round  a  knoll  of  elms  which  hide 
the  Vicarage  and  all  but  the  spire  of  St.  Julian's 
Church — stands  high  and  a  mile  back  from  the 
coast,  and  looks  straight  upon  the  Menawhidden 
reef,  a  fringe  of  toothed  rocks  lying  parallel  with 
the  shore  and  half  a  mile  distant  from  it.  This 
reef  forms  a  breakwater  for  a  small  inlet  where 
the  coombe  which  runs  below  Lansulyan  meets 
the  sea.  Follow  the  road  down-hill  from  the 
church-town  and  along  the  coombe,  and  you 
come  to  a  white-washed  fishing  haven,  with  a 
life-boat  house  and  short  sea-wall.  The  Forth  is 
its  only  name.  On  the  whole,  if  one  has  to 
live  in  Lansulyan  parish  the  Forth  is  gayer  than 
the  church-town,  where  from  the  Vicarage  win- 
dows you  look  through  the  trees  southward  upon 
ships  moving  up  or  down  Channel  in  the  blue 
distance  and  the  white  water  girdling  Mena- 
whidden; northward  upon  downs  where  herds  of 
ponies  wander  at  will  between  the  treeless  farms, 
and  a  dun-coloured  British  earthwork  tops  the 
high  sky-line.  Dwellers  among  these  uplands, 
wringing  their  livelihood  from  the  obstinate  soil 
by  labour  which  never  slackens,  year  in  and  year 
out,  from  Monday  morning  to  Saturday  night, 
are  properly   despised  by   the  inhabitants  of  the 

Forth,  who  sit  half  their  time  mending  nets,  cul- 

30'J 


THE  PENANCE   OF  JOHN   EMMET 

tivating  the  social  graces,  and  waiting  for  the  har- 
vest which  they  have  not  sown  to  come  floating 
past  their  doors.  By  consequence,  if  a  faraier 
wishes  to  learn  the  spiciest  gossip  about  his  near- 
est neighbour,  he  must  travel  down  to  the  Forth 
for  it. 

And  this  makes  it  the  more  marvellous  that 
what  I  am  about  to  tell,  happening  as  it  did  at 
the  very  gates  of  the  Forth,  should  have  escaped 
the  sharpest  eyes  in  the  place. 

The  Vicar's  custom  was  to  read  with  me  for 
a,  couple  of  hours  in  the  morning  and  again  for 
an  hour  and  a  half  before  dinner.  We  had 
followed  this  routine  rigidly  and  punctually  for 
three  months  or  so  wdien,  one  evening  in  June, 
he  returned  from  the  Forth  a  good  ten  minutes 
late,  very  hot  and  dusty,  and  even  so  took  a  turn 
or  two  up  and  down  the  room  with  his  hands 
clasped  behind  his  coat-tails  before  settling  down 
to  correct  my  iambics. 

"  John  Emmet  is  dead,"  he  announced,  paus- 
ing before  the  window  with  his  back  towards  me 
and  gazing  out  upon  the  ill-kept  lawn. 

"  Wasn't  he  the  coxswain  of  the  life-boat  ? "  I 
asked. 

"  Ah,  to  be  sure,  you  never  saw  him,  did  you  ? 

He  took  to  his  bed  before  you  came     ...     a 

310 


THE  PENANCE   OF  JOHN  EMMET 

long  illness.  Well,  well,  it's  all  over  !  "  Parson 
West  sighed.  "  He  saved,  or  helped  to  save,  a 
hundred  and  fifteen  lives,  first  and  last.  A  hun- 
dred and  fifteen  lives  !  " 

"  I've  heard  something  of  the  sort  down  at  the 
Porth.  A  hundred  and  fifty,  I  think  they  said. 
They  seemed  very  proud  of  him  down  there." 

"  AVhy  ?  "  The  Vicar  faced  round  on  me, 
and  added  after  a  moment  abruptly — "  He  didn't 
belong  to  them:  he  was  even  born  in  this  parish." 

"  Where  then  ?  " 

He  disregarded  the  question.  "  Besides,  the 
number  was  a  hundred  and  fifteen:  that's  just 
the  pity." 

I  did  not  understand:  but  he  had  seated  him- 
self at  table  and  was  running  through  my  iambics. 
In  the  third  verse  he  underlined  a  false  quantity 
with  blue  pencil  and  looked  up  for  an  explana- 
tion. While  I  confessed  the  fault,  his  gaze  wan- 
dered away  from  me  and  fell  upon  his  fingers 
drumming  upon  the  table's  edge.  A  slant  of  red 
sunshine  touched  the  signet-ring  on  his  little 
finger,  which  he  moved  up  and  down  watching 
the  play  of  light  on  the  rim  of  the  collet.  He 
was  not  listening.  By-and-by  lie  glanced  up.  "  I 
beg  your  pardon — "  stammered  he,  and   lea^ang 

the  rest  of  my  verses  uncorrected,  pointed  with 

311 


THE  PENANCE   OF  JOHN   EMMET 

bis  pencil  to  the  concluding  one.  "'  That's  not 
Greek,"  he  said. 

"It's  in  Sophocles,"  I  contended:  and  turning 
up  the  word  in  "  Liddell  and  Scott,"  I  pushed 
the  big  lexicon  under  his  nose. 

For  a  moment  be  paid  no  heed  to  the  action; 
did  not  seem  to  grasp  the  meaning  of  it.  Then 
for  the  first  and  last  time  in  my  acquaintance 
with  him  he  broke  into  a  passion  of  temper. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Sir  ?  It's  offensive,  I 
tell  you:  a  downright  offensive,  ungentlemanly 
thing  to  do  !  Yes,  Sir,  ungentlemanly  !  "  He 
crumpled  up  my  verses  and  tossed  them  into  the 
waste-jDaper  basket.  "  We  had  better  get  on  with 
our  Tacitus."  And  "  Offensive  !  "  I  heard  him 
muttering  once  more,  as  he  picked  up  the  book 
and  found  his  place.  I  began  to  construe.  His 
outburst  had  disconcerted  me,  and  no  doubt  I 
performed  discreditably:  but  glancing  up  in  some 
apprehension  after  a  piece  of  guess-work  which 
even  to  me  carried  no  conviction,  I  saw  that 
again  he  was  not  attending.  After  this,  by  boldly 
skipping  each  difficulty  as  it  arose  I  managed  to 
cover  a  good  deal  of  ground  with  admirable 
fluency. 

We  dined  together  in  silence  that  evening,  and 

after   dinner   strolled   out   to   the   big   filbert-tree 

312 


THE  PENANCE   OF  JOHN   EM^IET 

under  which,  for  a  few  weeks  in  the  year,  Parson 
West  had  his  dessert  laid  and  sipped  his  thin  port 
— an  old  common-room  fashion  to  which  he  clung. 
To  the  end  of  his  days  he  had  the  white  cloth 
removed  before  dessert,  and  the  fruits  and  the  one 
decanter  set  out  upon  polished  mahogany. 

I  glanced  at  him  while  helping  myself  to 
strawberries  and  cream.  He  sat  nervously  fold- 
ing and  refolding  the  napkin  on  his  knee.  By- 
and-by  he  spoke,  but  without  looking  at  me. 

"  I  lost  my  temper  this  afternoon,  and  I  beg 
your  pardon,  my  boy." 

I  began  to  stammer  my  contrition  for  having 
offended  him:  but  he  cut  me  short  with  a  wave 
of  the  hand.  "  The  fact  is,"  he  explained,  "  I 
was  worried  by  something  quite  diiferent." 

"  By  John  Emmet's  death,"  I  suggested. 

He  nodded,  and  looked  at  me  queerly  while  he 
poured  out  a  glass  of  Tarragona. 

"  He  was  my  gardener  years  ago,  before  he 
set  up  market-gardening  on  his  own  account." 

"  That's  queer  too,"  said  I. 

"  What's  queer  ?  "     He  asked  it  shaqily. 

"  W^hy,  to  find  a  gardener  cox'n  of  a  life-boat." 

"  He  followed  the  sea  in  early  life.     But  I'll 

tell  you  what  is  queer,  and  that's  his  last  wish. 

His   particular   desire   w^as   that   T,    and    1    alone, 

313 


THE  PENANCE   OF  JOHN  EMMET 

should  screw  down  the  coffin.  He  had  Tnidgeon 
the  carpenter  up  to  measure  him,  and  begged 
this  of  me  in  Trudgeon's  presence  and  the  doc- 
tor's.    What's  more,  I  consented." 

"  That's  jolly  unpleasant,"  was  my  comment, 
for  lack  of  a  better. 

The  Vicar  sat  silent  for  a  while,  staring  across 
the  lawn,  while  I  watched  a  spider  which  had  let 
itself  down  from  a  branch  overhead  and  was  cast- 
ing anchor  on  the  decanter's  rim.  With  his  next 
question  he  seemed  to  have  changed  the  subject. 

"  Where  do  you  keep  your  boat  now  ? " 

"  Renatus  Warne  has  been  putting  in  a  new 
strake  and  painting  her.  I  shall  have  her  down 
on  the  beach  to-morrow." 

"  Ah,  so  that's  it  ?  I  cast  my  eye  over  the 
beach  this  afternoon  and  couldn't  see  her.  You 
haven't  been  trying  for  the  conger  lately." 

"  We'll  have  a  try  to-morrow  evening  if  you'll 
come.  Sir.     I  wish  you  would." 

The  Vicar,  though  he  seldom  found  time  for 
the  sport,  was  a  famous  fisherman.  He  shook  his 
head;  and  then,  leaning  an  arm  on  the  table, 
gazed  at  me  with  sudden  seriousness. 

"  Look  here :    could  you  make  it  convenient  to 

go  fishing  for  conger  this  next  night  or  two — and 

io  go  alone?  " 

314 


THE  PENANCE   OF  JOHN   EMMET 

I  saw  that  he  had  something  more  to  say,  and 
waited. 

"  The  fact  is,"  he  went  on  after  a  glance 
towards  the  house,  "  I  have  a  ticklish  job  to 
carry  through — the  queerest  in  all  my  experience; 
and  unfortunately  I  want  help  as  well  as  secrecy. 
After  some  perplexity  I've  resolved  to  ask  you: 
because,  upon  my  word,  you're  the  only  person  I 
can  ask.  That  doesn't  sound  flattering — eh  ? 
But  it  isn't  your  fitness  I  doubt,  or  your  nerve, 
I've  hesitated  because  it  isn't  fair  to  drag  you 
into  an  affair  which,  I  must  warn  you,  runs 
counter  to  the  law  in  a  small  way." 

I  let  out  a  low  whistle.  "  A  smuggling  job  ?  " 
I  suggested. 

"  Good  Heavens,  boy  !  What  do  you  take  me 
for  ? " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  then.  But  when  you 
talk  of  a  row-boat — at  night — a  job  that  wants 
secrecy — breaking  the  law " 

"I'll  have  to  tell  you  the  whole  tale,  I  see: 
and  it's  only  fair." 

"Not  a  bit,"  said  I  stoutly.     "Tell  me  what 

you  want   done   and   I'll  do  it.     AfterAvards  tell 

me  your  reasons,  if  you  care  to.     Indeed,  Sir,  I'd 

rather  have  it  that  way,  if  you  don't  mind.      I 

was  abominably  disrespectful  this  afternoon " 

315 


THE  PENANCE   OF  JOHN  EMMET 

"  No  more  about  that." 

"  But  I  was:  and  with  your  leave,  Sir,  that's 
the  form  of  apology  I'll  choose." 

And  I  stood  up  with  my  hands  in  my  pockets. 

"  Nonsense,  nonsense,"  said  the  Vicar,  eyeing 
me  with  a  twinkle.  But  I  nodded  back  in  the 
most  determined  manner. 

"  Your  instructions,  Sir — that  is,  unless  you 
prefer  to  get  another  helper." 

"But  I  cannot,"  pleaded  he.  "That's  the 
mischief." 

"  Very  well,  then.  Your  instructions,  please." 
And  thus  I  had  my  way. 

This  hapjDened  on  a  Tuesday.  The  next  even- 
ing I  walked  down  to  the  Forth  and  launched  my 
boat.  A  row  of  idlers  watched  me  from  the  long 
beach  under  the  life-boat  house,  and  a  small  knot 
on  the  beach  inspected  my  fishing-gear  and  lent 
a  hand  to  push  off.  "  Ben't  goin'  alone,  be  'e  ? " 
asked  Renatus  "Warne.  "  Yes,"  said  I.  "  The 
conger'll  have  'ee  then,  sure  enough."  One  or 
two  offered  chaffingly  to  come  out  and  search  for 
me  if  I  shouldn't  return  before  midnight;  and  a 
volley  of  facetious  warnings  followed  me  out 
upon  the  calm  sea. 

The  beach  was  deserted,  however,  when  I  re- 
turned.    I    bad    hooked    three    fine    conger;    and 

316 


THE   PENANCE   OF  JOHN   E:\rMET 

having  lianlcfl  up  the  boat  and  cleaned  her,  I 
made  my  way  hack  to  the  vicarage,  well  pleased, 
getting  to  bed  as  the  clock  struck  two  in  the 
morning. 

This  was  Thursday;  and  in  the  evening,  be- 
tween seven  and  eight  o'clock,  I  launched  the  boat 
again  under  the  eyes  of  the  population  and  started 
fishing  on  the  inner  grounds  well  in  sight  of  the 
Forth.  Dusk  fell,  and  wath  it  the  young  moon 
dropped  behind  the  western  headland.  Far  out 
beyond  Menawhidden  the  riding-lights  of  a  few 
drifters  sparkled  in  the  darkness:  but  I  had  little 
to  fear  from  them. 

The  moon  had  no  sooner  disappeared  than  I 
shifted  my  ground,  and  pulling  slowly  down  in 
the  shore's  shadow  (I  had  greased  the  leathers  of 
my  oars  for  silence),  ran  the  boat  in  by  the  point 
under  Gunner's  Meadow,  beached  her  cunningly 
between  two  rocks,  and  pulled  a  tarpaulin  over 
to  hide  her  white-painted  interior.  My  only 
danger  now  lay  in  blundering  against  the  coast- 
guard: but  by  dodging  from  one  big  boulder  to 
another  and  listening  all  the  while  for  footsteps, 
I  gained  the  withy  bed  at  the  foot  of  the  meadow. 
The  night  was  almost  pitch-black,  and  no  one 
could  possibly  detect  the  boat  unless  he  searched 

for  it. 

317 


THE  PEN"ANCE   OF  JOHN  EMMET 

I  followed  the  little  stream  up  tlie  valley  bot- 
tom, throiigli  an  orchard,  and  struck  awaj  from 
it  across  another  meadow  and  over  the  rounded 
shoulder  of  the  hill  to  my  right.  This  brought 
me  in  rear  of  a  kitchen-garden  and  a  lonely  cob- 
walled  cottage,  the  front  of  which  faced  down  a 
dozen  precipitous  steps  upon  the  road  leading 
from  Lansulyan  to  the  Porth.  The  cottage  had 
but  one  window  in  the  back,  in  the  upper  floor; 
and  just  beneath  it  jutted  out  a  lean-to  shed,  on 
the  wooden  side  of  which  I  rapped  thrice  with  my 
knuckles. 

"  Hist  !  "  The  Vicar  leaned  out  from  the  dark 
window  above.  "  Right :  it's  all  ready.  We 
must  stow  it  in  the  outhouse.  Trudgeon  is  down 
in  the  road  below,  waiting  for  me  to  finish." 

Ko  more  was  said.  The  Vicar  withdrew:  after 
a  minute  I  heard  the  planking  creak:  then  some- 
thing white  glimmered  in  the  opening  of  the 
window — something  like  a  long  bundle  of  linen, 
extruded  inch  by  inch,  then  lowered  on  to  the  pent- 
house roof  and  let  slide  slowly  down  towards  me. 

"  Got  it  ?  " 

"  Right."  I  steadied  it  a  moment  by  its  feet, 
then  let  it  slide  into  my  arms,  and  lowered  it  on 
to  the  gravelled  path.  It  was  the  body  of  John 
Emmet,  in  his  winding-sheet. 


THE  PENANCE   OF  JOHN  EMMET 

"  Carry  it  into  the  shed,"  wliisperecl  the  Vicar. 
"  T  must  show  Tnidgoon  the  coffin  and  liand  him 
the  keys.  AVhen  I've  got  rid  of  him  I'll  come 
round." 

Somehow,  the  second  time  of  handling  it  was 
far  worse  than  the  first.  The  chill  of  the  corpse 
seemed  to  strike  through  its  linen  wrappers.  But 
I  lifted  it  inside,  shut  the  door  upon  it,  and 
stood  wii)ing  my  forehead,  while  the  Vicar  closed 
the  Avindow  cautiously,  drew  the  blind,  and 
pressed-to  the  clasp. 

A  minute  later  I  heard  him  calling  from  the 
front,  "  Mr.  Trudgeon — Mr.  Trudgeon "  ;  and 
Trudgeon's  hob-nailed  boots  ascending  the  steps. 
Silence  followed  for  many  minutes:  then  a  slant 
of  candle-light  faded  off  the  fuchsia-bush  round 
the  corner,  and  the  two  men  stumbled  down  the 
staircase — stood  muttering  on  the  doorstep  while 
a  key  grated  in  the  lock — stumbled  down  the 
steps  and  stood  nuittering  in  the  sunken  roadway. 
At  length  they  said  "  Good-night  "  and  parted. 
I  listened  while  the  sound  of  their  footsteps  died 
away:  Trudgeon's  down  the  hill  towards  the 
Forth,  the  Vicar's  up  towards  the  church-town. 

After   this  I   had   some   painful    minutes.     As 

they   dragged   by,    an    abominable   curiosity   took 

hold  of  me,  an  itch  to  o])en  the  door  of  the  shed, 

319 


THE  PE:NAJ^CE   of  JOHN   EMMET 

strike  a  match,  and  have  a  look  at  the  dead  face 
I  had  never  seen.  Then  came  into  my  mind  a 
passage  in  the  Republic  which  I  had  read  a  fort- 
night before — how  that  one  Leontius,  the  son  of 
Aglaion,  coming  up  one  day  from  the  Piraeus 
under  the  north  wall  of  the  city,  observed  some 
corpses  lying  on  the  ground  at  the  place  of  exe- 
cution; and  how  he  fought  between  his  desire  to 
look  and  his  abhorrence  until  at  length,  the  fasci- 
nation mastering  him,  he  forced  his  eyes  open 
with  his  fingers  and  ran  up  exclaiming,  "  Look, 
wretches,  look  !  Feed  your  fill  on  the  fair 
sight  !  '^  .  .  .  My  seat  was  an  inverted  flower- 
pot, and  clinging  to  it  I  began  to  count.  If  the 
Vicar  did  not  arrive  before  I  reached  five  hun- 
dred, why,  then    .     .     . 

"  Hist  !  "  He  had  fetched  his  compass  round 
by  the  back  of  the  garden,  treading  so  softly  that 
the  signal  sounded  almost  in  my  ear  and  fetched 
me  off  my  flower-pot  in  a  nervous  quake.  He 
wore  a  heavy  pea-jacket,  and,  as  a  smell  of  hot 
varnish  announced,  carried  a  dark  lantern  beneath 
it.  He  had  strapped  this  to  his  waistbelt  to  leave 
both  hands  free. 

We  lifted  the  body  out  and  carried  it  across 

the  meadow,  the  Yicar  taking  the  shoulders  and 

I  the  heels.      And  now  came  the  real  hazard  of 

320 


THE   PENANCE   OF  JOHN   EM^fRT 

the  uiglit.  If  the  coastguard  or  any  belated  wan- 
derer should  blunder  upon  us,  we  stood  convicted 
of  kidnapping  a  corpse,  and  (as  the  Vicar  after- 
wards allowed)  there  was  simply  no  explanation 
to  be  given.  When  we  gained  the  orchard  and 
pushed  through  the  broken  fence,  every  twig  that 
crackled  fetched  my  heart  into  my  mouth:  and 
I  drew  my  first  breath  of  something  like  ease 
when  at  length,  in  the  wuthy  bed  at  the  foot  of 
Gunner's  Meadow^,  we  laid  our  burden  down  be- 
hind the  ruin  of  an  old  cob-wall  and  took  a  short 
rest  before  essaying  the  beach. 

But  that  breath  was  hardly  drawn  before  I  laid 
a  warning  hand  on  the  Vicar's  sleeve.  Someone 
was  coming  down  the  cliff -track:  the  coastguard, 
no  doubt.  He  lialted  on  the  wooden  footbridge, 
struck  a  match  and  lit  his  pipe.  From  our  covert 
not  ten  yards  away  I  saw  the  glow  on  his  face  as 
he  shielded  the  match  in  the  hollow  of  both  his 
hands.  It  "was  the  coastguard — a  fellow  called 
Simms.  His  match  lit,  I  expected  him  to  re- 
sume his  walk.  But  no:  he  loitered  there.  For 
what  reason,  on  earth  ?  Luckily  his  back  was 
towards  us  now:  but  to  me,  as  I  cowered  in  the 
plashy  mud  and  prayed  against  sneezing,  it  seemed 
that  the  damnatory  smell  of  the  Vicar's  lantern 

must  carry  for  half  a  mile  at  least. 

321 


THE   PENANCE   OF  JOHN   EMMET 

And  now  I  heard  another  footstep,  coming 
from  the  westward,  and  a  loose  stone  kicked  over 
the  cliff.  Another  coastguard  !  The  pair  hailed 
each  other,  and  stood  on  the  footbridge  talking 
together  for  a  good  three  minutes. 

Then  to  our  infinite  relief  they  parted  with  a 
"  So  long  !  "  and  each  made  slowly  off  by  the  way 
he  had  come.  It  was  just  a  meeting  of  the  patrols 
after  all. 

Another  ten  minutes  must  have  gone  by  before 
we  dared  to  lift  the  body  again:  and  after  a 
nervous  while  in  crossing  the  beach  we  found  the 
boat  left  high  and  dry  by  the  ebb,  and  had  an 
interminable  job  to  get  her  down  to  the  water 
without  noise.  I  climbed  in  and  took  the  oars: 
the  Vicar  lifted  a  sizeable  stone  on  board  and  fol- 
lowed. 

"  The  Carracks,"  he  whispered.  "  That's  the 
spot  he  named  to  me." 

So  I  pulled  out  towards  the  Can'acks,  which  are 
three  points  of  rock  lying  just  within  the  main 
barrier  of  Menawhidden,  where  it  breaks  up 
towards  its  western  end  into  a  maze  of  islets. 
"While  I  pulled,  the  Vicar  knelt  on  the  bottom- 
boards  and  made  fast  the  stone  to  John  Emmet's 
feet. 

Well,  I  need  not  tell  the  rest  of  our  adventure 

322 


THE   PENANCE   OF  JOHN   EMMET 

at  k'lintli.  We  reached  the  Carracks,  and  there 
the  Vicar  pulled  out  a  short  surplice  from  the 
immense  inner  pocket  of  his  pea-jacket,  donned  it, 
and  read  the  burial  service  in  due  form  by  the 
light  of  his  dark  lantern:  and  by  the  light  of  it, 
as  I  arranged  J(jlni  Emmet's  shroud,  I  had  my 
first  and  last  glimpse  of  his  face — a  thin  face, 
old  and  hollow,  with  grey  side- whiskers :  a  face  ex- 
traordinarily pallid:  in  other  circumstances  per- 
haps not  noticeable  unless  it  were  for  a  look  of 
extreme  weariness  which  had  lasted  even  into  the 
rest  of  death. 

"  We  therefore  commit  his  body  to  the  deep, 
to  be  turned  into  corruption,  looking  for  the 
resurrection  of  the  body  (when  the  sea  shall 
give  up  her  dead),  and  the  life  of  the  world  to 
come.     .     .     ." 

Together  we  balanced  it  on  the  gunwale,  and 
with  the  help  of  the  stern-board  tilted  it  over. 
It  dropped,  into  fifteen  fathoms  of  water. 

There  was  another  funeral  next  day  in  Lan- 
sulyan  churchyard — where  so  many  have  come  to 
be  buried  who  never  in  life  heard  the  name  of 
Lansulyan:  the  harvest  of  Menawhidden,  com- 
memorated on  weather-beaten  stones  and,  within 

the  church,  on  many  tablets  which  I  used  to  con 

323 


THE  PENANCE   OF  JOHN   EMMET 

on  Sundays  during  tlie  Vicar's  discourses.  The 
life-boat  men  liad  mustered  in  force,  and  alto- 
gether there  was  a  large  attendance  at  the  grave- 
side. At  one  point  a  fit  of  coughing  interrupted 
the  Yicar  in  his  recital  of  the  service.  I  was  the 
one  auditor,  however,  who  understood  the  mean- 
ing of  it. 

That  evening  we  took  our  dessert  again  under 
the  great  elm.  Somehow  I  felt  certain  he  would 
choose  this  hour  for  his  explanation:  and  in  due 
course  it  came. 

"  I'm  a  truth-speaking  man  by  habit,"  he  began 
after  a  long  gaze  upwards  at  the  rooks  now 
settling  to  roost  and  making  a  mighty  pother  of 
it.  "  But  I'm  afraid  there's  no  getting  round  the 
fact  that  this  afternoon  I  acted  a  lie.  And  yet, 
on  the  whole,  my  conscience  is  easy." 

He  sipped  his  wine,  and  went  on  meditatively — 

"  Morals  have  their  court  of  equity  as  well  as 
the  law  of  the  land:  and  with  us" — the  Vicar 
was  an  old-fashioned  Churchman — "  that  court  is 
the  private  conscience.  In  this  affair  you  in- 
sisted on  putting  your  conscience  into  my  hands. 
Well,  I  took  the  responsibility,  and  charge  my- 
self with  any  wrong  you  have  committed,  letting 

your  confidence  stand  to  your  credit,  as  well   as 

324 


THE  PP]NANCE   OF  JOTIN   EMMET 

the  service  you  have  done  for  me — and  another. 
Do  joii  know  the  grey  marble  tablet  on  the  south 
wall  of  the  church — the  Nerhuddha  monument  ?  " 

I  nodded. 

"'Sacred  to  the  memory  of  Lieutenant- Colonel 
Victor  Stanhope,  C.B.,  and  105  Officers  and  Men  of 
Her  Majestifs  2-th  Begiment  of  Foot,  lost  in  the 
wreck  of  the  Nerhuddha,  East  Indiaman,  on  Mena- 
whidden,  January  15th,  1857.  .  .  ."  Then  follows 
a  list  of  the  officers.  Underneath,  if  you  remem- 
ber, is  a  separate  slab  to  the  officers  and  crew  of 
the  Nerhuddha,  who  behaved  admirably,  all  the 
senior  officers  keeping  order  to  the  last  and  going 
down  with  the  ship." 

I  nodded  again,  for  T  knew  the  inscriptions 
pretty  well  by  heart. 

"  The  wreck  happened  in  the  first  winter  of 
my  incumbency  here.  Then,  as  now,  I  had  one 
pupil  living  with  me,  an  excellent  fellow.  Dick 
Ilobart  was  his  name,  his  age  seventeen  or  there- 
abouts, and  my  business  to  put  some  polish  on  a 
neglected  education  before  he  entered  the  Army. 
His  elder  brother  had  been  a  college  friend  of 
mine,  and  indeed  our  families  had  been  acquainted 
for  years. 

"  Dick  slept  in  the  room  you  now  occupy.     He 

had  a  habit,  which  I  never  cured,  of  sitting  up 

325 


THE  PENANCE   OF  JOHN  EMMET 

late  over  a  pipe  and  a  yellow-backed  novel:  and 
so  he  happened  to  be  dressed  that  night  when  he 
saw  the  first  signal  of  distress  go  up  from  Mena- 
whidden.  He  caine  to  my  room  at  once  and 
called  me  up:  and  while  I  tumbled  out  and  began 
to  dress,  he  ran  down  to  Forth  to  give  the  alarm. 

"  The  first  signal,  however,  had  been  seen  by 
the  folks  down  there,  and  he  found  the  whole 
place  in  a  hubbub.  Our  first  life-boat  had  ar- 
rived less  than  three  months  before;  but  the  crew 
got  her  off  briskly,  and  were  pulling  away  lustily 
for  the  reef  when  it  occurred  to  a  few  of  those 
left  behind  that  the  sea  running  was  not  too  for- 
midable for  a  couple  of  seine-boats  lying  high  on 
the  beach:  and  within  five  minutes  these  were 
hauled  down  and  manned  with  scratch  crews — 
Dick  Hobart  among  them. 

"  Three  days  of  east  wind  had  knocked  up  a 
heavy  swell:  but  the  wind  was  blowing  a  mod- 
erate gale  only — nothing  to  account  for  a  big  ship 
(as  she  was  already  reported  to  be)  finding  her- 
self on  Menawhidden.  Three  signals  only  had 
been  shown,  and  these  in  quick  succession.  We 
learned  afterwards  that  she  went  down  within 
twelve  minutes  of  striking.  She  had  dashed 
straight  on  the  Carracks,  witli  the  wind  well  be- 
hind her  beam;  topmast  housed  for  the  night,  but 

326 


THE  PENANCE   OF  JOHN  EMMET 

barrino-  that,  canvassed  like  a  well-found  ship  sure 
of  her  sea-room.  And  the  Carracks  had  torn  the 
bottom  out  of  her. 

"  The  difficulty  with  the  life-boat  and  two  seine- 
boats  was  to  find  the  position  of  the  wreck,  the 
night  being  pitch  dark  and  dirty,  and  the  calls 
and  outcries  of  the  poor  creatures  being  swept 
down  the  wind  to  the  westward.  Om*  fellows 
pulled  like  Trojans,  however,  hailing  and  ahoying 
as  they  went;  and  about  half-way  down  the  line 
of  Menawhidden  they  came  on  the  first  of  the 
Nerhuddha's  boats,  laden  with  women  and  chil- 
dren, in  charge  of  the  fourth  officer  and  half- 
a-dozen  seamen.  From  her  they  learned  the 
vessel's  name  and  whereabouts,  and  having  directed 
her  on  her  way  to  the  Forth,  hurried  for^vard 
again.  They  passed  another  boat  similarly  laden, 
and  presently  heard  the  distracting  cries  of  swim- 
mers, and  drove  straight  into  the  wreckage  and 
the  struggling  crowd  of  bodies.  The  life-boat 
rescued  twenty-seven,  and  picked  up  four  more  on 
a  second  journey:  the  first  seine-boat  accounted 
for  a  dozen:  the  second  (in  which  Hobart  pulled 
an  oar)  was  less  fortunate,  saving  five  only — and 
yet,  as  I  shall  tell  you,  my  young  friend  had 
(and,  for  that  matter,  still  has)  abundant  rcaj^on 

to  be  thankful  for  his  voyage  in  her;  for  on  that 

827 


THE  PENANCE   OF  JOHN   EMMET 

night  he  plucked  from  the  sea  the  greatest  treasure 
of  his  life. 

"  She — for  it  was  a  small  girl  of  seven,  and  he 
took  her  from  the  arms  of  a  seaman  who  died 
soon  after  being  lifted  into  the  boat — turned  out 
to  be  the  Colonel's  daughter.  She  had  stood  by 
her  mother's  side  above  the  gangway  while  the 
women  passed  do\vn  the  side  into  the  boats:  for 
that  noble  English  lady  had  insisted  that  as  it  was 
the  Colonel's  duty  to  follow  his  men,  so  it  was 
for  the  Colonel's  wife  to  wait  until  every  other 
woman  and  every  child  had  filed  past.  The 
Ner-huddha  had  gone  down  under  her  as  she  stood 
there  beside  her  husband,  steadied  by  his  hand 
on  her  shoulder.  Both  bodies  were  afterwards 
recovered. 

"  Altogether    fifty-two    were    buried    in    this 

parish :   other  bodies  were  washed  ashore  or  picked 

up  from  time  to  time,  some  at  great  distances  up 

and  down  the  Channel.     In  the  end  the  list  of 

those  unaccounted  for  came  to  forty,  or  by  other 

accounts  thirty-six.     That  was  my  first  experience 

of   what   Menawhidden   could    do.      I   have    had 

many  since:    but  to  this  day  our  little  church — 

yes,  even  when  we  decorate  it  for  harvest-festival 

and  pile  the  sheaves  within  the  Communion  rails 

— remains  for  me  the  dark  little  building  where 

328 


THE   PENANCE    OF  JOHN    EMMET 

the  bodies  lay  in  rows  waiting  to  be  identified, 
and  where  I  and  half-a-dozen  volunteers  took 
turns  in  keeping  watch  day  and  night  while  the 
windows  shook  and  the  damp  oozed  down  the 
walls. 

"  The  cause  of  the  wreck  was  never  made  clear. 
The  helmsman  had  gone,  and  the  captain  (his 
body  was  among  the  missing),  and  the  first,  sec- 
ond, and  third  officers.  But  two  seamen  who  had 
been  successively  relieved  at  the  wheel  in  the 
early  hours  of  the  night  agreed  on  the  course  set 
by  the  captain.  It  was  a  course  which  must 
finally  bring  them  straight  on  Menawhidden. 
Yet  there  was  no  evidence  to  show  that  the  cap- 
tain changed  it.  The  men  knew  nothing  of 
Channel  navigation,  and  had  simply  obeyed  orders. 
She  had  struck  during  the  first  mate's  watch. 
The  fourth  officer  (survivor)  had  also  been  on 
deck.  He  gave  evidence  that  his  superior,  Mr. 
Rands,  had  said  nothing  about  the  course.  For 
his  own  part  he  had  supposed  the  ship  to  be  a 
good  fifteen  miles  from  the  coast.  They  had 
sighted  no  shore-lights  to  warn  them:  but  the 
weather  was  thick.  Five  minutes  before  the  catas- 
trophe Mr.  Rands  had  remarked  that  the  wind 
was  increasing,  but  had  deferred  shortening  sail. 
The    ship    was    an    old    one,    but    newly    rigged 

329 


THE  PENANCE   OF  JOHN   EMMET 

throughout.  Her  compasses  had  been  adjusted 
and  the  ship  swung  at  Greenhithe,  just  before  the 
voyage.  Mr.  Murchison,  the  captain,  was  a 
trusted  commander  of  the  H.E.I.C.:  he  came 
originally  from  Liverpool,  and  had  worked  his  way 
up  in  the  company's  service:  a  positive  man  and 
something  of  a  disciplinarian,  almost  a  martinet — 
not  a  man  who  would  bear  crossing  easily.  He 
was  in  his  cabin,  but  came  on  deck  at  once,  ready 
dressed;  and  had,  with  Colonel  Stanhope's  assist- 
ance, kept  admirable  order,  getting  out  the  three 
boats  as  promptly  as  possible.  A  fourth  had 
actually  been  launched,  and  was  being  manned 
when  the  vessel  plunged  and  stove  her  in  as  she 
went  down. 

"  That  is  as  much  as  needs  be  told  about  the 
Nerhuddha.  Let  me  get  on  to  the  happier  part 
of  the  story,  that  which  concerns  Dick  Hobart 
and  the  small  girl  whom  by  Heaven's  mercy  he 
helped  to  save.  Her  name  was  Felicia — Felicia 
Rose  Derwent  Stanhope  in  full.  Her  uncle  and 
guardian,  Sir  John  Derwent,  came  down  and 
fetched  her  home,  with  the  bodies  of  her  father 
and  mother.  I  have  told  you  that  Dick  was  just 
then  waiting  for  his  commission,  which,  by  the 
way,  his  family  could  poorly  afford  to  purchase. 

Well,  in  recognition  of  his  '  gallantry '  (as  the  old 

330 


THE  PENANCE   OF  JOHN   EM^klET 

gentleman  was  good  enough  to  term  it)  Sir  John, 
who  possessed  a  good  deal  of  infliionce,  had  him 
gazetted  within  six  weeks,  and  to  the  2-th  Regi- 
ment— '  for  which,'  so  ran  the  gracious  letter 
bringing  the  news,  '  you  have  performed  the  first 
of  what  I  hope  will  be  a  long  list  of  distinguished 
services.' 

"  Pretty,  was  it  not  ?  Yes,  but  there's  prettier 
to  come.  Felicia,  who  was  an  only  child  and 
quite  an  heiress  in  a  small  way,  kept  up  from  the 
first  a  steady  correspondence  with  her  '  preserver ' : 
childish  letters,  to  begin  with,  but  Dick  kept 
them  all.  In  Bombay,  in  Abyssinia,  for  a  few 
weeks  in  England  (when  he  saw  her  for  the  first 
time  since  the  wreck),  then  back  in  India  again, 
he  has  told  me  since  that  the  world  held  but  one 
woman  for  him,  and  that  was  the  little  girl 
growing  up  to  womanhood  in  her  Bedfordshire 
home. 

"  Well   it   all   happened   as   you   are   guessing. 

Dick,  wlio  had  inherited  a  little  money  by  this 

time,   and   was  expecting  his  majority,   retuiiied 

to  England  in  '72  on  a  long  furlough.     Needless 

to   say   he   paid    a   visit   to    Cressingham,    where 

Felicia  lived  under  the  wing  of  a  widowed  aunt: 

equally  needless  to  say  what  happened  there.     The 

engagement    was    a    short    one — six   weeks:     and 

331 


THE   PENxVNCE   OF  JOHN  EMMET 

Dick  flattered  me  immensely  with   an  invitation 
to  come  up  and  perform  the  ceremony." 

The  Vicar  paused,  refilled  his  glass,  and  leaning 
back  gazed  up  at  the  now  silent  nests.  "  All  this," 
thought  I,  "  may  be  mighty  interesting  in  its 
way,  but  what " 

"  But  what,  you'll  be  asking,  has  all  this  to  do 
with  John  Emmet  ?  I'm  coming  to  that.  On 
the  evening  of  my  arrival  at  Cressingham,  Dick, 
who  was  lodging  at  the  village  inn  where  I  too 
had  a  room,  took  me  over  to  pay  my  respects  to 
the  ladies.  We  had  taken  our  leave  and  were 
passing  down  the  pretty  avenue  of  limes  to  the 
entrance  gates,  when  he  paused  and  hailed  a  man 
stooping  over  a  fountain  in  the  Italian  garden  on 
our  left,  and  apparently  clearing  it  of  dead  leaves. 

"  '  Hi  !   John  Emmet  ! ' 

"  The  man  straightened  his  back,  faced  round, 
and  came  towards  us,  touching  his  hat. 

"  '  This  is  the  gentleman,  John,  who  has  come 
expressly  to  tie  the  knot  next  Wednesday.  You 
must  know,'  said  Dick,  turning  to  me,  '  that  Miss 
Felicia  and  John  Emmet  are  sworn  friends,  and 
he  owes  me  a  mighty  grudge  for  taking  her  away. 
He's  been  gardener  here  for  fifteen — sixteen — how 
many  years  is  it,  John  ? ' 

Then,'  said  I,  '  I  suppose  you  were  here  be- 


(i  ( 


TIIK    PKNANCE    OF   JOHN    P]MMET 

fore  the  wreck  of  the  Nerhuddha,  and  knew  Miss 
Felicia's  parents  ? ' 

"  The  man  gave  a  start,  and  his  hat,  which  he 
had  pulled  off,  and  with  the  brim  of  which  he 
was  fumbling,  slipped  from  his  fingers  and  rolled 
on  the  turf. 

"  '  Oh,  yes,  I  forgot  !  '  put  in  Dick.  '  I  ought 
to  have  told  you  that  Mr.  West  here  is  the  Rector 
of  Lansulyan,  and  was  at  the  time  of  the  wreck." 

"  '  Indeed,  Sir  ! '  John  Emmet  had  recovered 
his  hat,  and  confronted  me  with  a  face  for  which 
I  spared  a  glance  before  bending  my  eyes  on  the 
daisies  at  my  feet.  '  I — I  took  service  here  some 
months  after  that  event.' 

"  '  Come,  Padre  ' — these  were  the  next  words  I 
heard — '  if  you  wish  to  prod  up  all  the  daisies  on 
Felicia's  property,  arise  early  to-morrow  and  begin. 
But  if  we're  to  dine  at  the  Hall  to-night  it's  time 
to  be  getting  back  to  the  inn  and  changing  our 
clothes.' 

"  I  looked  up,  and  my  eyes  fell  on  the  retreat- 
ing back  of  John  Emmet,  already  half-way 
towards  the  Italian  garden. 

"  '  Queer    fellow,    that — what's    his    name  ? — 

John  Emmet,'  said  I  late  that  night  on  our  return 

to   the  inn,   as  Dick   and   I   mixed   our  whiskies 

333 


THE  PENANCE   OF  JOHN   EMMET 

and  prepared  for  a  smoke  before  his  sitting-room 
fire. 

"  ^  Tile  loose,  I  fancy/  answered  Dick,  pausing 
with  a  lighted  match  in  his  hand.  ^  I've  an  idea 
that  he  owes  me  a  grudge  for  coming  here  and 
carrying  off  Felicia.' 

"  '  What  gives  you  that  notion  ? ' 

"  '  Well,  you  see  he  has  always  been  a  favour- 
ite of  hers.  She  tells  me  that  the  hours  she  man- 
aged to  steal  and  spend  in  the  garden,  chatting 
with  John  Emmet  while  he  worked,  were  the 
happiest  in  her  childhood.  He  seems  to  have 
been  a  kind  of  out-of-door  protector  to  her,  and 
I'll  bet  she  twisted  him  round  her  small  thumb.' 

"  '  That's  little  enough  to  go  upon,'  was  my  com- 
ment. '  It  struck  me,  on  the  contrary,  that  the  man 
eyed  you  with  some  affection,  not  to  say  pride.' 

"  '  Well,  it's  a  small  thing,  but  I  can't  help  re- 
membering how  he  took  the  news  of  Felicia's — of 
our  engagement.  You  see,  it  happened  at  a  fancy- 
dress  dance.' 

"  '  Wliat  happened  ? ' 

"  '  Don't  be  dense.  Padre.  Wliy,  it — the  en- 
gagement. The  dance  was  given  by  some  people 
who  live  two  miles  from  here — people  called  Bar- 
grave.     Felicia  and  I  drove  over.     She  wore  an 

old   Court  dress  of  her  grandmother's   or  great- 

334 


THE  PENANCE   OF  JOHN  EMMET 

grandmother's:  I'm  no  hand  at  costumes,  and  can 
only  tell  you  that  she  looked  particularly  jolly  in 
it.  I  went  in  uniform — mess  uniform,  that  is. 
It's  one  of  the  minor  advantages  of  the  service 
that  on  these  occasions  a  man  hasn't  to  put  on  a 
cavalier's  wig  and  look  like  a  goat  out  for  a  holi- 
day, Well,  as  I  was  saying,  at  this  particular 
dance  it  happened.  It  was  daybreak  when  we 
started  to  drive  home;  a  perfect  midsummer  morn- 
ing, sun  shining,  dew  on  the  hedges,  and  the  birds 
singing  fit  to  split  themselves.  Felicia  and  I  had 
a  lot  to  say  to  each  other,  naturally;  and  it  oc- 
curred to  us  to  stop  the  carriage  at  the  gates  and 
send  it  on  while  we  walked  up  to  the  house  to- 
gether. We  took  the  path  leading  through  the 
Italian  garden,  and  there — pretty  well  in  the  same 
place  where  you  saw  him  this  afternoon — we  came 
on  John  Emmet,  already  out  and  at  work:  or 
rather  he  was  leaning  on  a  hoe  and  staring  after 
the  carriage  as  it  moved  up  the  avenue  behind  the 
limes.  We  came  on  him  from  behind,  and,  I 
suppose,  suddenly.  Anyhow,  we  scared  him.  I 
never  saw  such  a  face  in  my  life  as  he  turned  on 
us  !  It  went  all  white  in  an  instant,  and  then 
slowly  whiter.  No  doubt  our  dress  was  unusual: 
but    I'm    not    accustomed    to    be    taken    for    a 

ghost ' 

335 


THE  PENANCE   OF  JOHN   EMMET 


(C  i 


Was  it  you  who  frightened  him  ? ' 

"  '  Yes,  I  think  so.  He  kept  his  eyes  on  me, 
anyway:  and  at  first,  when  Eelicia  asked  him  to 
congratulate  her,  he  didn't  seem  to  hear.  After 
a  bit,  however,  he  picked  up  his  speech  and  mut- 
tered something  about  fate,  and  wishing  her  joy 
— I  forget  what.  Felicia  confessed  afterwards 
that  his  face  had  fairly  frightened  her.' 

"  '  Look  here,'  I  asked ;  '  it  may  seem  an  ir- 
relevant question,  but  has  the  2-th  made  any 
changes  in  its  uniform  lately  ? — any  important 
changes,  I  mean.' 

" '  No :  the  War  Office  has  been  obliging 
enough  to  leave  us  alone  in  that  respect:  out  of 
sight  out  of  mind,  I  suppose.  In  point  of  fact 
we've  kept  the  same  rig — officers  and  men — for 
something  like  a  quarter  of  a  century.'  He 
paused.  '  I  see  what  you're  driving  at.  The 
man,  you  think,  may  be  an  old  deserter  ! ' 

"  '  Not  so  fast,  please.  Now  here's  another 
question.  You  remember  the  night  after  the 
wreck  of  the  Nerbuddha:  the  night  you  took  a 
turn  in  Lansulyan  Church,  watching  the  bodies  ? 
You  came  to  me  in  the  morning  with  a  story 
which  I  chose  to  laugh  at ' 

"  '  About  the  face  at  the  window,  you  mean  ? ' 
Dick  gave  a  mock  shudder.     '  T  suppose  my  nerves 

336 


THE  PENANCE   OF  JOHX   E:\I:\IET 

were  shaken.  I've  been  through  some  queer 
things  since:  but  upon  my  soul  I'd  as  soon 
face  the  worst  of  them  again  as  take  another 
spell  with  a  line  of  corpses  in  that  church  of 
yours.' 

"  '  But— the  face  ? ' 

"  '  Well,  at  the  time  I'd  have  sworn  I  saw  it: 
peering  in  through  the  last  window  westward  in 
the  south  aisle — the  one  above  the  font.  I  ran 
out,  you  remember,  and  found  nobody:  tlien  I 
fetched  a  lantern  and  flfished  it  about  the  church- 
yard.' 

" '  There  were  gravestones  in  plenty  a  man 
could  hide  behind.  Should  you  remember  the 
face  ? ' 

"Dick  considered  for  a  while.  'No:  it  didn't 
strike  me  as  a  face  so  much  as  a  pair  of  eyes;  I 
remember  the  eyes  only.  They  were  looking 
straight  into  mine.' 

"  '  Well,  now.     I've  always  guessed  there  was 

something  queer  about  that  Nerhuddha  business: 

though  till  now  I've  never  told  a  soul  my  chief 

reason  for  believing  so.     After  you  left  me  that 

night,  and  while  I  was  dressing,  it  occurred  to  me 

from  the  last  of  the  three  signals — the  only  one  I 

saw — that  the  wreck  must  be  somewhere  near  the 

Carraeks,  and  that  Farmer  Tregaskis  had  a  seine- 

337 


THE   PENANCE   OF  JOHN  EMMET 

boat  drawn  up  by  the  old  pallace*  at  Gunner's 
Meadow,  just  opposite  the  Carracks.  It  struck 
me  that  if  it  were  possible  to  knock  up  Tre- 
gaskis  and  his  boys  and  the  farm-hand  who  slept 
on  the  premises,  and  get  this  boat  launched 
through  the  siu-f,  we  should  reach  the  wreck 
almost  as  soon  as  the  life-boat.  So  I  took  a  lan- 
tern and  ran  across  the  fields  to  the  farm.  Lights 
were  burning  there  in  two  or  three  windows,  and 
Mrs.  Tregaskis,  who  answered  my  knock,  told  me 
that  her  husband  and  the  boys  had  already  started 
off — she  believed  for  Gunner's  Meadow,  to  launch 
their  boat.  There  had  been  talk  of  doing  so, 
anyhow,  before  they  set  out.  Accordingly  off  I 
pelted  hot-foot  for  the  meadow,  but  on  reaching 
the  slope  above  it  could  see  no  lanterns  either 
about  the  pallace  or  on  the  beach.  It  turned 
out  afterwards  that  the  Tregaskis  family  had  in- 
deed visited  the  beach,  ten  minutes  ahead  of  me, 
but  judging  it  beyond  their  powers  to  launch  the 
boat  short-handed  througli  the  surf,  were  by  this 
time  on  their  way  towards  the  Forth.  I  thought 
this  likely  enough  at  the  time,  but  resolved  to 
run  down  and  make  sure. 

"  '  Hitherto  I  had  carried  my  lantern  unlit:   but 
on   reaching  the  coombe  bottom   I  halted   for  a 

*  Pilchard  store. 
338 


THE  PENANCE   OF  JOHN  EMMET 

moment  under  the  lee  of  the  pallace-wall  to  strike 
a  match.  In  that  moment,  in  a  siuhlcn  hill  of 
the  breakers,  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  heard  a  foot- 
step on  the  loose  stones  of  the  beach;  and  having 
lit  my  candle  hastily  I  ran  round  the  wall  and 
gave  a  loud  hail.  It  was  not  answered:  the  sound 
had  ceased:  but  hurr^dng  down  the  beach  with 
my  lantern  held  high,  I  presently  saw  a  man 
between  me  and  the  water's  edge.  I  believe  now 
that  he  was  trying  to  get  away  unobserved:  but 
finding  this  hopeless  he  stood  still  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  and  allowed  me  to  come  up.  He 
was  bare-headed,  and  dressed  only  in  shirt  and 
trousers  and  boots.  Somehow,  though  I  did  not 
recognise  him,  I  never  doubted  for  a  moment 
that  the  man  belonged  either  to  my  o^vn  or  the 
next  parish.  I  was  a  newcomer  in  those  days, 
you  remember, 

"  '  "  Ilulloa  !  "  said  I,  "  where  do  you  come 
from  ? "  ' 

" '  lie  stared  at  me  stupidly  and  jerked  his 
thunil)  over  his  shoulder  towards  the  west.  I  in- 
ferred that  he  came  from  one  of  the  shore-farms 
in  that  direction.  He  looked  like  a  middle-aged 
farmer — a  grizzled  man  witli  a  serious,  responsible 
face.     "  But  you're  wet  through,"  I  said,  for  his 

clothes  were  drenched. 

339 


THE  PENANCE   OF  JOHN  EMIMET 


ci  ( 


For  answer  he  pointed  towards  the  surf,  and 
lifting  my  lantern  again,  I  detected  a  small  cask 
floating  a  little  beyond  the  breakers.  Now  before 
coming  to  Lansulyan  I  had  heard  some  ugly  tales 
of  the  wrecking  done  in  these  parts,  and  at  the 
sight  of  this  I  fairly  lost  my  temper.  "  It  seems 
to  me,"  said  I,  "  a  man  of  your  age  should  be 
ashamed  of  himself,  lurking  here  for  miserable 
booty  when  there  are  lives  to  save  !  In  God's 
name,  if  you  have  a  spark  of  manhood  in  you, 
follow  me  to  the  Forth  !  "  I  swung  off  in  a 
rage,  and  up  the  beach:  after  a  moment  I  heard 
him  slowly  following.  On  the  cliif  track  I  swal- 
lowed down  my  wrath  and  waited  for  him  to 
come  up,  meaning  to  expostulate  more  gently. 
He  did  not  come  up.  I  hailed  twice,  but  he  had 
vanished  into  the  night. 

"  '  Now  this  looked  ugly.  And  on  reflection, 
when  I  reached  the  Forth  and  heard  men  wonder- 
ing how  on  earth  a  fine  ship  found  herself  on 
Menawhidden  in  such  weather,  it  looked  uglier 
yet.  The  fellow — now  I  came  to  think  it  over — 
had  certainly  shrank  from  detection.  Then, 
thirty  hours  later,  came  your  story  of  the  face, 
and  upset  me  further.  I  kept  my  suspicions  to 
myself,  however.  The  matter  was  too  grave  for 
random  talking:    but  I  resolved  to  keep  eyes  and 

340 


THE  PENANCE   OF  JOHN   EMMET 

ears  open,  and  if  this  horrible  practice  of  wreck- 
ing did  really  exist,  to  expose  it  without  mercy. 

"  '  Well  I  have  lived  some  years  since  in  Lan- 
sulyan:  and  I  am  absolutely  sure  now  that  no 
such  horrors  exist,  if  they  ever  existed.' 

"  '  But  the  man  ? '  was  Dick's  query. 

"  '  That's  what  I'm  coming  to.  You  may  be 
sure  I  looked  out  for  him:  for,  unlike  you,  I 
remembered  the  face  I  saw.  Yet  until  to-day  I 
have  never  seen  it  since.' 

"  '  Until  to-day  ? ' 

" '  Yes.  The  man  I  saw  on  the  beach  was 
Miss  Felicia's  gardener,  John  Emmet.  He  has 
shaved  his  beard;  but  I'll  swear  to  him.' 

"  All  that  Dick  could  do  was  to  pull  the  pipe 
from  his  mouth  and  give  a  long  whistle.  '  But 
what  do  you  make  of  it  ? '  he  asked  with  a  frown. 

"  ^  As  yet,  nothing.  "Where  does  the  man 
live  ? ' 

"  '  In  a  small  cottage  at  the  end  of  the  village, 
just  outside  the  gate  of  the  kitchen-garden.' 

"  '  Married  ? ' 

"'NTo:  a  large  family  lives  next  door  and  he 
pays  the  eldest  girl  to  do  some  odd  jobs  of 
housework.' 

"  '  Then   to-morrow,'   said    I,    '  I'll   pay   him   a 

call.' 

341 


THE  PENANCE   OF  JOHN  EMMET 


a  c 


Seen  your  man  ? '  asked  Dick  next  evening, 
as  we  walked  up  towards  the  house,  where  again 
we  were  due  for  dinner. 

"  '  I  have  just  come  from  him :  and  what's 
more  I  have  a  proposition  to  make  to  Miss  Felicia, 
if  you  and  she  can  spare  me  an  hour  this  even- 
ing.' 

"  The  upshot  of  our  talk  was  that,  a  week  later, 
as  I  drove  home  from  the  station  after  my  long 
railway  journey,  John  Emmet  sat  by  my  side.  He 
had  taken  service  with  me  as  gardener,  and  for 
nine  years  he  served  me  well.  You'll  hardly  be- 
lieve it " — here  the  Vicar's  gaze  travelled  over 
the  unkempt  flower-beds — "  but  under  John  Em- 
met's hand  this  garden  of  mine  was  a  picture. 
The  fellow  would  have  half  a  day's  work  done 
before  the  rest  of  the  parish  was  out  of  bed.  I 
never  knew  a  human  creature  who  needed  less 
sleep — that's  not  the  way  to  put  it,  though — the 
man  couldn't  sleep:  he  had  lost  the  power  (so 
he  said)  ever  since  the  night  the  Nerhuddha 
struck. 

"  So  it  was  that  every  afternoon  found  the  day's 

work  ended  in  my  garden,  and  John  Emmet,  in 

my  sixteen-foot  boat,  exploring  the  currents  and 

soundings     about    Menawhidden.       And     almost 

842 


THE   PENANCE   OF  JOHN   EMMET 

every  day  I  went  witli  liiiii.  lie  had  become  a 
learner — for  the  third  time  in  his  life;  and  the 
quickest  learner  (in  spite  of  his  years)  I  have  ever 
known,  for  his  mind  was  bent  on  that  single  pur- 
pose. I  should  tell  you  that  the  Trinity  House 
had  discovered  Menawhidden  at  last  and  placed 
the  bell-buoy  there — which  is  and  always  has  been 
entirely  useless:  also  that  the  Lifeboat  Institution 
liad  listened  to  some  suggestions  of  mine  and  were 
reorganising  the  service  down  at  the  Forth.  And 
it  was  now  my  hope  that  John  Emmet  might  be- 
come coxswain  of  the  boat  as  soon  as  he  had  local 
knowledge  to  back  up  the  seamanship  and  apti- 
tude for  command  in  which  I  knew  him  to  excel 
every  man  in  the  Forth.  There  were  jealousies, 
of  course:  but  he  wrangled  with  no  man,  and  in 
the  end  I  had  my  way  pretty  easily.  Within 
four  years  of  his  coming  John  Emmet  knew  more 
of  Menawhidden  than  any  man  in  the  parish; 
possibly  more  than  all  the  parish  put  together. 
And  to-day  the  parish  is  proud  of  him  and  his 
record. 

"  But  they  do  not  know — and  you  are  to  be 
one  of  the  four  persons  in  the  world  who  know — 
that  John  Emmet  loas  no  other  than  John  Mur- 
chison,  the  captain  ivho  lost  the  ' Nerhuddha'    He 

had  come  ashore  in  the  darkness  some  five  min- 

343 


THE  PENANCE   OF  JOHN   EMMET 

utes  before  I  had  surprised  him  on  the  beach :  had 
come  ashore  clinging  to  the  keg  which  I  saw 
floating  just  beyond  the  breakers.  Then  and 
there,  stunned  and  confounded  by  the  conse- 
quences of  his  carelessness,  he  had  played  the 
coward  for  the  first  and  last  time  in  his  life.  He 
had  run  away — and  Heaven  knows  if  in  his  shoes 
I  should  not  have  done  the  same.  For  two  nights 
and  a  day  a  hideous  fascination  tied  him  to  the 
spot.  It  was  his  face  Dick  had  seen  at  the  win- 
dow. The  man  had  been  hiding  all  day  in  the 
trench  by  the  north  wall  of  the  churchyard;  as 
Dick  ran  out  with  a  lantern  he  slipped  behind  a 
gravestone,  and  when  Dick  gave  up  the  search, 
he  broke  cover  and  fled  inland.  He  changed  his 
name:  let  this  be  his  excuse,  he  had  neither  wife 
nor  child.  The  man  knew  something  of  garden- 
ing: he  had  a  couple  of  pounds  and  some  odd 
shillings  in  his  pocket — enough  to  take  him  to  one 
of  the  big  midland  towns — Wolverhampton,  I 
think — where  he  found  work  as  a  jobbing 
gardener.  But  something  of  the  fascination  which 
had  held  him  lurking  about  Lansulyan,  drove  him 
to  Cressingham,  which — he  learned  from  the 
newspaper  accounts  of  the  wreck — was  Colonel 
Stanhope's  country  seat.     Or  perhaps  he  had  some 

vague  idea  that  Heaven  would  grant  him  a  chance 

344 


THE  PENANCE   OF  JOHN   EMMET 

to  make  ameuds.     You  understand  now  how  the 
little  Felicia  became  his  idol. 

"  At  Lansiilyan  he  had  but  two  desires.  The 
first  was  to  live  until  he  had  saved  as  many  lives 
as  his  carelessness  had  lost  in  the  Nerhuddlia.  For 
it  was  nothing  worse,  but  mere  forgetfulness  to 
change  the  course:  one  of  those  dreadful  lapses  of 
memory  which  bafile  all  Board  of  Trade  inquiry. 
You  may  light,  and  buoy,  and  beacon  every  danger 
along  the  coast,  and  still  you  leave  that  small 
kink  in  the  skipper's  brain  which  will  cast  away  a 
ship  for  all  your  care.  The  second  of  his  desires 
you  have  helped  me  to  fulfil.  He  wished  in 
death  to  be  John  j\Iurchison  again,  and  lie  where 
his  ship  lies:  lie  with  his  grand  error  atoned  for. 
John  Emmet  needs  no  gTavestonc:  for  John  Em- 
met lived  but  to  earn  John  Murchison's  right  to  a 
half-forgotten  tablet  describing  him  as  a  brave 
man.  And  I  believe  that  Heaven,  which  does 
not  count  by  tally,  has  granted  his  \\nsh." 


345 


XIII 
ELISHA 

A  EOUGH  track — something  between  a  footpatH 
and  a  water  course — led  down  the  mountain-side 
through  groves  of  evergreen  oak,  and  reached  the 
Plain  of  Jezreel  at  the  point  where  the  road  from 
Samaria  and  the  south  divided  into  two — its  main 
stem  still  climbing  due  north  towards  ISTazareth, 
while  the  branch  bent  back  eastward  and  by  south 
across  the  flat,  arable  country  to  join  the  Carmel 
road  at  Megiddo. 

An  old  man  came  painfully  down  the  moun- 
tain-track. He  wore  a  white  burnoos,  and  a 
brown  garment  of  camel's  hair,  with  a  leathern 
belt  that  girt  it  high  about  his  bare  legs.  He 
carried  a  staff,  and  tapped  the  ground  carefully 
before  planting  his  feet.  It  was  the  time  of 
barley  harvest,  and  a  scorching  afternoon.  On 
the  burnt  plain  below,  the  road  to  Megiddo 
shone  and  quivered  in  the  heat.  But  he  could 
not  see  it.     Cataract  veiled  his  eyes  and  blurred 

the  whole  landscape  for  them. 

346 


ELISHA 

The  track  now  woiiiid  about  a  foot-liill  that 
broke  away  in  a  sharp  slope  on  his  right,  and 
plunged  to  a  stony  ravine.  Once  or  twice  he 
paused  on  its  edge  and  peered  downward,  as  if 
seeking  for  a  landmark.  lie  was  leaning  forward 
to  peer  again,  but  suddenly  straightened  his  body 
and  listened. 

Far  down  in  the  valley  a  solitary  dog  howled. 
But  the  old  man's  ear  had  caught  another  sound, 
that  came  from  the  track,  not  far  in  front. 

Cling — cling — cUnh  I     Cling — clink  ! 

It  was  the  sound  of  hammering;  of  stone  on 
metal. 

Cling — cling — clink  I 

He  stepped  forward  briskly,  rounded  an  angle 
of  rock,  and  found  himself  face  to  face  with  a 
man — as  well  as  he  could  see,  a  tall  man — stand- 
ing upright  by  a  heap  of  stones  on  the  left  edge 
of  the  path. 

"May  it  be  well  with  you,  my  son:  and  with 
every  man  who  repairs  a  path  for  the  traveller. 
But  tell  me  if  the  way  be  unsafe  hereabouts  ? 
For  my  eyes  are  very  dim,  and  it  is  now  many 
years  since  last  I  came  over  the  hills  to  Shu- 
nem." 

The  man  did  not  reply. 

" So  many  years  that  for  nigh  upon  an 

347 


ELISHA 

hour  I  have  been  saying,  '  Surely  here  should 
Shiinem  come  in  sight — or  here — its  white  walls 
among  the  oaks  below — the  house  of  Miriam  of 
Shunem.  But  I  forget  the  curtain  on  my  eyes, 
and  the  oaks  will  have  grown  tall.'* 

Still  there  came  no  answer.  Slightly  nettled, 
the  old  man  went  on — 

"  My  son,  it  is  said  '  To  return  a  word  before 
hearing  the  matter,  is  folly.'  But  also,  '  Every 
man  shall  kiss  his  lips  that  answereth  fit  words.' 
And  further,  ^  To  the  aged  every  stranger  shall 
be  a  staff,  nor  shall  he  twice  inquire  his  way.' 
Though  I  may  not  scan  thy  face,  thou  scannest 
mine;  and  I,  who  now  am  blind,  have  been  a 
seer  in  Israel." 

As  he  ceased,  another  figure — a  woman's — 
stepped  out,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  from  behind 
the  man;  stepped  forward  and  touched  him  on 
the  arm. 

"  Hail,  then,  Elisha,  son  of  Shaphat." 

"  Thou  knowest     ...      ?  " 

"  Who  better  than  Miriam  of  Shunem  ?  Put 
near  thy  face  and  look." 

"  My  eyes  are  very  dim." 

"  And  the  oaks  are  higher  than  Shunem.     My 

face  has  changed:   my  voice  also." 

"  For  the  moment  it  was  strange  to  me.     As 

348 


ELISHA 
I  came  along  I  was  reckoning  tby  years  at  three- 


score." 


"  Mayst  add  five." 

"  "VVe  may  not  complain.  And  thy  son,  how 
fares  he  ? " 

"  That  is  he,  behind  us.  He  is  a  good  son, 
and  leaves  his  elders  to  speak  first.  If  we  sit 
awhile  and  talk  he  will  wait  for  us." 

"  And  thy  house  and  the  farm-steading  ?  " 

The  woman  threw  a  glance  down  towards  the 
valley,  and  answered  quickly — 

"  My  master,  shall  we  not  sit  awhile  ?  The 
track  here  looks  towards  the  plain.  Sit,  and 
through  my  eyes  thou  shalt  see  again  distant 
Carmc'l  and  the  fields  between  that  used  so  to 
delight  tliee.     Ah  !    not  there  !  " 

The  old  man  had  made  as  if  to  seat  himself 
on  one  of  the  larger  stones  on  the  edge  of  the 
heap.  But  she  prevented  him  quickly;  was  gone 
for  a  moment;  and  returned,  rolling  a  moss- 
covered  boulder  to  the  right-hand  of  the  path. 
The  prophet  sat  himself  down  on  tliis,  and  she  on 
the  ground  at  his  feet. 

"  Just   here,   from   my   window   below,   I   saw 

thee    coming    down    the    mountain    with    Gehazi, 

thy  servant,  on  that  day  when  it  was  promised  to 

me  that  I  should  bear  a  son." 

349 


ELISHA 

He  nodded. 

"  For  as  often  as  we  passed  by,"  lie  said, 
"  we  found  food  and  a  little  room  prepared  upon 
the  wall.  '  Thou  hast,  been  careful  for  us,'  said 
I,  '  with  all  this  care.  What  is  to  be  done  for 
thee  ?  Shall  I  speak  to  the  King  for  thee,  or 
to  the  captain  of  the  host  ? '  Thine  answer  was, 
'  I  dwell  in  Sliunem,  among  my  own  people.'  " 

"  There  is  no  greener  spot  in  Israel." 

"  '  But,'  said  my  servant  Gehazi,  '  Every  spot 
is  greener  where  a  child  plays.'  Therefore  this 
child  was  promised  thee." 

She  said,  "  But  once  a  year  the  plain  is  yellow 

and    not    green;      yellow    away    to    the    foot    of 

Carmel;  and  that  is  in  this  season  of  the  barley 

harvest.     It  was  on  such  a  day  as  this  that  my 

son  fell  in  the  field  among  the  reapers,  and  his 

father  brought  him  in  and  set  him  on  my  knees. 

On   such    a   day   as   this   I   left    him    dead,    and 

saddled  the  ass  and  rode  between  the  same  yellow 

fields  to   Megiddo,    and   thence   towards    Carmel, 

seeking  thee.     See  the  white  road  winding,  and 

the  long  blue  chine  yonder,  by  the  sea.     By  and 

by,  when  the  sun  sinks  over  it,  the  blue  chine 

and    the    oaks    beneath    will    turn    to    one    dark 

colour;    and   that   will   bo   the   hour  that   I   met 

thee   on  the   slope,   and   lighted   off  the   ass   and 

350 


ELISHA 

caught  tlice  by  the  feet.  As  yet  it  is  all  parched 
fields  and  sky  of  brass  and  a  white  road  running 
endless — endless." 

"  But  what  are  these  black  shadows  that  pass 
between  me  and  the  sun  ?  " 

"  They  are  crows,  my  master." 

"  "What  should  they  do  here  in  these  numbers  ?  " 

The  woman  rose  and  flung  a  stone  at  the  birds. 
Seating  herself  again,  she  said — 

"  Below,  the  reapers  narrow  the  circle  of  the 
corn;  and  there  are  conies  within  the  circle.  The 
kites  and  crows  know  it." 

"  But  that  day  of  which  thou  hast  spoken — 
it  ended  in  gladness.  The  Lord  restored  thy  son 
to  thee." 

"  Thou  rather,  man  of  God." 

"  My  daughter.  His  mercy  was  very  great  upon 
thee.     Speak  no  blasphemy,  thou  of  all  women." 

"  The  Lord  had  denied  me  a  son ;  but  thou 
persuadest  Him,  and  He  gave  me  one.  Again, 
the  Lord  had  taken  mv  child  in  the  harvest-field, 
but  on  thy  wrestling  gave  him  back.  And  again 
the  Lord  meditated  to  take  my  child  by  famine, 
but  at  thy  wai'ning  I  arose  and  conveyed  him 
into  the  land  of  the  Philistines,  nor  returned  to 
Shunem  till  seven  vears'  end.  Mv  master,  thou 
art  a  ]irophet  in  Israel,  but  I  am  thinkin 


t3 


351 


ELISHA 

She  broke  off,  rose,  and  flung  anothcjr  stone  at 
the  birds. 

"  My  daughter,  think  not  slightly  of  God's 
wisdom." 

"  Nay,  man  of  God,  I  am  thinking  that  God 
was  wiser  than  thou  or  I." 

The  old  prophet  rose  from  his  stone.  His  dull 
eyes  tried  to  read  her  face.     She  touched  his  hand. 

"  Come,  and  see." 

The  figure  of  the  man  still  stood,  three  paces 
behind  them,  uj^right  against  the  hillside,  as  when 
Elisha  had  first  turned  the  corner  and  come  upon 
him.  But  now,  led  by  Miriam,  the  prophet  drew 
quite  close  and  peered.  Dimly,  and  then  less 
dimly,  he  discerned  first  that  the  head  had  fallen 
forward  on  the  breast,  and  that  the  hair  upon 
the  scalp  was  caked  in  dry  blood;  next,  that 
figure  did  not  stand  of  its  own  will  at  all,  but 
was  held  upright  to  a  stout  post  by  an  iron  ring 
about  the  neck  and  a  rope  about  the  waist.  He 
put  out  a  finger  and  touched  the  face.    It  was  cold. 

"  Thy  son  ?  " 

"  They  stoned  him  with  these  stones.  His 
wife  stood  by." 

"  The  Syrians  ?  " 

"  The  Syrians.  They  went  northward  before 
noon,  taking  her.     Tlie  plain  is  otherwise  burnt 

352 


ELISIIA 

than  on  ti.e  day  when  I  sought  across  it  for  his 
sake  to  Carmel." 

"  Well  did  King  David  entreat  the  hand  of 
the  Lord  rather  than  the  hand  of  man.  I  had 
not  heard  of  thy  son's  marrying." 

"  Five  years  ago  he  went  down  with  a  gift  to 
Philistia,  to  them  that  sheltered  lis  in  the  fam- 
ine.    He  brought  back  this  woman." 

"  She  betrayed  him?  " 

"  He  heard  her  speak  with  a  Syrian,  and  fled 
up  the  hill.  From  the  little  window  in  the  wall 
— see,  it  smokes  yet — she  called  and  pointed  after 
him.  And  they  ran  and  overtook  him.  With 
this  iron  they  fastened  him,  and  with  these  stones 
they  stoned  him.  Man  of  God,  I  am  thinking 
that  God  was  wiser  than  thou  or  I." 

The  old  man  stood  musing,  and  touched  the 
heap  of  stones  gently,  stone  after  stone,  with  the 
end  of  his  staff. 

"  He  was  wiser." 

Cling — cling — clink  ! 

Miriam  had  taken  up  a  stone,  and  with  it 
was  hammering  feebly,  impotently,  upon  the  rivets 
in  the  iron  band. 

As  the  sun  dropped  below  Carmel  the  prophet 

cast  down  his  staff  and  stretched  out  two  groping 

hands  to  help  her. 

353 


XIV 
ONCE  ABOARD  THE  LUGGER 

Eakly  last  Fall  there  died  in  Troy  an  old  man 
and  his  wife.  The  woman  went  first,  and  the 
husband  took  a  chill  at  her  grave's  edge,  when 
he  stood  bareheaded  in  a  lashing  shower.  The 
loose  earth  crumbled  under  his  feet,  trickled  over, 
and  dropped  on  her  coffin-lid.  Through  two  long 
nights  he  lay  on  his  bed  without  sleeping  and  lis- 
tened to  this  sound.  At  first  it  ran  in  his  ears 
perpetually,  but  afterwards  he  heard  it  at  intervals 
only,  in  the  pauses  of  acute  suffering.  On  the 
seventh  day  he  died,  of  pleuro-pneumonia ;  and 
on  the  tenth  (a  Sunday)  they  buried  him.  For 
just  fifty  years  the  dead  man  had  been  minister 
of  the  Independent  chapel  on  the  hill,  and  had 
laid  down  his  pastorate  two  years  before,  on  his 
golden  wedding-day.  Consequently  there  was  a 
funeral  sermon,  and  the  young  man,  his  successor, 
chose  II.   Samuel,  i.   23,   for  his   text — "  Lovely 

and   pleasant   in   their   lives,   and  in   their   death 

354 


ONCE  ABOAED  THE  LUGGER 

they  were  not  divided/'  lliinsclf  a  newly-mar- 
ried man,  he  waxed  dithyrambic  on  the  sustained 
affection  and  accord  of  the  departed  couple. 
"  Truly,"  he  wound  up,  "  such  marriages  as  theirs 
were  made  in  Heaven."  And  could  they  have 
heard,  the  two  bodies  in  the  cemetery  had  not 
denied  it;  but  the  woman,  after  the  fashion  of 
women,  would  have  qualified  the  young  minister's 
assertion  in  her  secret  heart. 

When,  at  the  close  of  the  year  1839,  the  Rev. 
Samuel  Bax  visited  Troy  for  the  first  time,  to 
preach  his  trial  sermon  at  Salem  Chapel,  he  ar- 
rived by  Boutigo's  van,  late  on  a  Saturday  night, 
and  departed  again  for  Plymouth  at  seven  o'clock 
on  Monday  morning.  He  had  just  turned  twenty- 
one,  and  looked  younger,  and  the  zeal  of  his  call- 
ing was  strong  upon  him.  Moreover  he  was 
shaken  with  nervous  anxiety  for  the  success  of  his 
sermon;  so  that  it  is  no  marvel  if  he  carried  away 
but  blurred  and  misty  impressions  of  the  little 
port  and  the  congregation  that  sat  beneath  him 
that  morning,  ostensibly  reverent,  but  actually  on 
the  pounce  for  heresy  or  any  sign  of  weakness. 
Their  impressions,  at  any  rate,  were  sharp  enough. 
They  counted   his   thumps  upon   the   desk,   noted 

his  one  reference  to  "  the  original   Greek,"   saw 

355 


ONCE  ABOARD  THE  LUGGER 

and  remembered  the  flush  on  his  young  face  and 
the  glow  in  his  eyes  as  he  hammered  the  doctrine 
of  the  redemption  out  of  original  sin.  The 
deacons  fixed  the  subject  of  these  trial  sermons, 
and  had  chosen  original  sin  on  the  ground  that  a 
good  beginning  was  half  the  battle.  The  maids 
in  the  congregation  knew  beforehand  that  he  was 
unmarried,  and  came  out  of  chapel  knowing  also 
that  his  eyes  were  brown,  that  his  hair  had  a  red- 
dish tinge  in  certain  lights;  that  one  of  his  cuffs 
was  frayed  slightly,  but  his  black  coat  had  scarcely 
been  worn  a  dozen  times;  with  other  trifles.  They 
loitered  by  the  chapel  door  until  he  came  out  in 
company  with  Deacon  Snowden,  who  was  con- 
veying him  off  to  dinner.  The  deacon  on  week 
days  was  harbour-master  of  the  port,  and  on  Sun- 
days afforded  himself  roasted  duck  for  dinner. 
Lizzie  Snowden  walked  at  her  father's  right  hand. 
She  was  a  slightly  bloodless  blonde,  tall,  with  a 
pretty  complexion,  and  hair  upon  which  it  was 
rumoured  she  could  sit  if  she  were  so  minded. 
The  girls  watched  the  young  preacher  and  his  en- 
tertainers as  they  moved  down  the  hill,  the  deacon 
talking  and  his  daughter  turning  her  head  aside 
as  if  it  were  merely  in  the  half  of  the  world  on 
her  right  hand  that   she   took  the   least  interest. 

"  That's  to  show  'en  the  big  plait,"  commented 

356 


ONCE  ABOAliD  THE  LUGGEE 

one  of  the  group  behind.  "  lie  can't  turn  his 
head  t'wards  her,  l)ut  it  stares  'en  in  the  face." 

"  An'  her  features  look  best  from  the  left  side, 
as  everybody  knows." 

"  I  reckon,  if  lie's  chosen  minister,  that  Lizzie 
'II  have  'en,"  said  a  tall,  lanky  girl.  She  was 
api)renticed  to  a  dressmaker  and  engaged  to  a 
young  tin-smith.  Having  laid  aside  ambition  on 
her  own  account,  she  flung  in  this  remark  as  an 
apple  of  discord. 

"  Jenifer  Ilosken  has  a  chance.  He's  fair- 
skinned  hissel',  an'  Lizzie's  too  near  his  own 
colour.     Black's  mate  is  white,  as  they  say." 

"  There's  Sue  Tregraine.  She'll  have  more 
money  than  either,  when  her  father  dies." 

"  What,  marry  one  o'  Kuan  !  "  the  speaker 
tittered  despitefully. 

"  AVhy  not  ?  " 

The  only  answer  was  a  shrug.  Ruan  is  a  small 
town  that  faces  Troy  across  the  diminutive  har- 
bour, or  i)erliaps  I  should  say  that  Troy  looks 
down  upon  it  at  this  slight  distance.  When  a 
Trojan  speaks  of  it  he  says,  "  Across  the  water," 
with  as  much  implied  contempt  as  though  he 
meant  Botany  Bay.  There  is  no  cogent  reason 
for   this,    except    that    the    poorer   class   at    Buan 

earns  its  livelihood   by   fishing.     In   the   eyes  of 

357 


ONCE  ABOAED  THE  LUGGEK 

its  neighbours  the  shadow  of  this  lonely  calling  is 
cast  upwards  upon  its  wealthier  inhabitants.  Troy 
depends  on  commerce,  and  in  the  days  of  which 
I  write  employed  these  wealthier  men  of  Ruan  to 
build  shij)s  for  it.  Further  it  did  not  condescend. 
Intermarriage  between  the  towns  was  almost  un- 
heard of,  and  even  now  it  is  rare.  Yet  they  are 
connected  by  a  penny  ferry. 

"  Her  father's  a  shipbuilder,"  urged  Sue  Tre- 
graine's  supporter. 

"  He  might  so  well  keep  crab  -  pots,  for  all  the 
chance  she'll  have." 

]S[ow  there  was  a  Ruan  girl  standing  just  out- 
side this  group,  and  she  heard  what  was  said. 
Her  name  was  Nance  Trewartha  and  her  father 
was  a  fisherman,  who  did  in  fact  keep  crab-pots. 
Moreover,  she  was  his  only  child,  and  helped 
him  at  his  trade.  She  could  handle  a  boat  as 
well  as  a  man,  she  knew  every  sea  mark  up  and 
down  the  coast  for  thirty  miles,  she  could  cut  up 
bait,  and  her  hands  were  horny  with  handling 
ropes  from  her  childhood.  But  on  Sundays  she 
wore  gloves,  and  came  across  the  ferry  to  chapel, 
and  was  as  wise  as  any  of  her  sex.  She  had 
known  before  coming  out  of  her  pew  that  the 
young  minister  had  a  well  shaped  back  to  his  head 

and  a  gold  ring  on   his  little   finger  with   some- 

358 


ONCE  ABOARD  THE  LUGGER 

body's  luiir  in  the  collet,  uiuler  a  crystal.  She 
was  dark,  strai<j,ht,  and  lissom  of  fi^ire,  with  ripe 
lips  and  eyes  as  black  as  sloes,  and  she  hoped 
that  the  hair  in  the  minister's  ring  was  his 
mother's.  She  was  well  aware  of  her  social  in- 
feriority; bnt — the  truth  may  be  told — she  chose 
to  forget  it  that  morning,  and  to  wonder  what 
this  young  man  would  be  like  as  a  husband.  She 
had  looked  up  into  his  face  during  sermon  time, 
devouring  his  boyish  features,  noticing  his  refined 
accent,  marking  every  gesture.  Certainly  he  was 
comely  and  desirable.  As  he  walked  down  the 
hill  by  Deacon  Snowden's  side,  she  was  perfectly 
conscious  of  the  longing  in  hci-  heart,  but  pre- 
pared to  put  a  stop  to  it,  and  go  home  to  dinner 
as  soon  as  he  had  turned  the  corner  and  passed 
out  of  sight.  Then  came  that  unhappy  remark 
about  the  crab-pots.  She  bit  her  lip  for  a  mo- 
ment, turned,  and  walked  slowly  off  towards  the 
ferry,  full  of  thought. 

Three  weeks  after,  the  Rev.  Samuel  Bax  re- 
ceived his  call. 

ITc  arrived,  to  assume  his  duties,  in  the  waning 

light  of  a  soft  January  day.     Boutigo's  van  set 

him  down,  with  a  carpet-bag,  band-box,  and  chest 

of    books,    at    the    door    of    the    lodgings    which 

359 


ONCE  ABOARD  THE  LUGGER 

Deacon  Snowden  liad  taken  for  liim.  The  house 
stood  in  the  North  Street,  as  it  is  called.  It  was 
a  smallj  yellow-washed  building,  containing  jnst 
half-a-dozen  rooms,  and  of  these  the  two  set  apart 
for  the  minister  looked  straight  npon  the  har- 
bom-.  Under  his  sitting-room  window  was  a  little 
garden,  and  at  the  end  of  the  garden  a  low  wall 
with  a  stretch  of  water  beyond  it,  and  a  barque 
that  lay  at  anchor  but  a  stone's  throw  away,  as 
it  seemed,  its  masts  stretching  high  against  the 
misty  hillside.  A  green-painted  door  was  let 
into  the  garden  wall — a  door  with  two  flaps,  the 
upper  of  which  stood  open;  and  through  this 
opening  he  caught  another  glimpse  of  grey  water. 

The  landlady,  who  showed  him  into  this  room, 
and  at  once  began  to  explain  that  the  furniture 
was  better  than  it  looked,  was  hardly  prepared  for 
the  rapture  with  which  he  stared  out  of  window. 
His  boyhood  had  been  spent  in  a  sooty  Lancashire 
town,  and  to  him  the  green  garden,  the  quay- 
door,  the  barque,  and  the  stilly  water,  seemed  to 
fall  little  short  of  Paradise. 

"  I  reckoned  you'd  like  it,"  she  said.  "  An'  to 
be  sure,  'tis  a  blessing  you  do." 

He  turned  his  stare  upon  her  for  a  moment. 

She  was  a  benign-looking  woman  of  about  fifty, 

in  a  short-skirted  grey  gown  and  widow's  cap. 

360 


ONCE  AiiOARJ)  TJIK  LUCiGEK 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  " 

"  Because,  leavin'  out  tlio  kitclien,  there's  but 
four  rooms,  two  for  you  an'  two  for  me;  two 
facin'  the  harbour,  an'  two  facin'  the  street. 
Now,  if  you'd  took  a  dislike  to  this  look-out,  I 
must  lui'  put  you  over  tlie  street,  an'  moved  in 
here  mysel'.  I  do  like  the  street,  too.  There's 
so  much  more  goin'  on." 

"  I  think  this  arrangement  will  be  better  in 
every  way,"  said  the  young  minister. 

"  I'm  glad  of  it.  Iss,  there's  no  denyin'  that 
I'm  main  glad.  From  upstairs  you  can  see  right 
down  the  harbour,  which  is  prettier  again. 
Would'ee  like  to  see  it  now  ?  O'  course  you 
would — an'  it'll  be  so  much  handier  for  me  an- 
swerin'  the  door,  too.  There's  a  back  door  at 
the  end  o'  the  passage.  You've  only  to  slip  a 
bolt  an'  you'm  out  in  the  garden — out  to  your 
boat,  if  you  choose  to  keep  one.  But  the  gar- 
den's a  tidy  little  spot  to  walk  up  an'  down  in 
an'  make  up  your  sermons,  wi'  nobody  to  over- 
look you  but  the  folk  next  door;  an'  they'm 
church-goers." 

After  supper  that  evening,  the  young  minister 
unpacked  his  books  and  was  about  to  arrange 
them,    but    drifted    to    the    window    instead.      He 

361 


ONCE  ABOARD  THE  LUGGER 

paused  for  a  minute  or  two  with  his  face  close  to 
the  pane,  and  then  flung  up  the  sash.  A  faint 
north  wind  breathed  down  the  harbour,  scarcely 
ruffling  the  water.  Around  and  above  him  the 
frosty  sky  flashed  with  innumerable  stars,  and  over 
the  barque's  masts,  behind  the  long  chine  of  the 
eastern  hill,  a  soft  radiance  heralded  the  rising 
moon.  It  was  a  young  moon,  and,  while  he 
waited,  her  thin  horn  pushed  up  through  the  furze 
brake  on  the  hill's  summit  and  she  mounted  into 
the  free  heaven.  With  upturned  eye  the  young 
minister  followed  her  course  for  twenty  minutes, 
not  consciously  observant;  for  he  was  thinking 
over  his  ambitions,  and  at  his  time  of  life  these 
are  apt  to  soar  with  the  moon.  Though  pos- 
sessed with  zeal  for  good  work  in  this  small  sea- 
side town,  he  intended  that  Troy  should  be  but 
a  stepping-stone  in  his  journey.  He  meant  to  go 
far.  And  while  he  meditated  his  future,  for- 
getting the  chill  in  the  night  air,  it  was  being 
decided  for  him  by  a  stronger  will  than  his  own. 
More  than  this,  that  w^ill  had  already  passed  into 
action.  Ilis  destiny  was  actually  launched  on  the 
full  spring  tide  that  sucked  the  crevices  of  the 
grey  wall  at  the  garden's  end. 

A  slight  sound  drew  the  minister's  gaze  down 

from  the  moon  to  the  quay-door.     Its  upper  flap 

362 


ONCE  ABOARD  THE  LUGGER 

still  stood  open,  allowing  a  sqnare  of  moonli<j,lit 
to  pierce  the  straight  black  shadow  of  the  garden 
wall. 

In  this  sqnare  of  moonlight  were  now  framed 
the  head  and  shonlders  of  a  human  being.  The 
young  man  felt  a  slight  chill  run  down  his  spine. 
He  leant  forward  out  of  the  window  and  chal- 
lenged the  apparition,  bating  his  tone  as  all  people 
bate  it  at  that  hour. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  he  demanded. 

There  was  no  reply  for  a  moment,  though  he 
felt  sure  his  voice  must  have  carried  to  the  quay- 
door.  The  figure  paused  for  a  second  or  two, 
then  unbarred  the  lower  flap  of  the  door  and 
advanced  across  the  wall's  shadow  to  the  centre 
of  the  bright  grass-plat  under  the  window.  It 
was  the  figure  of  a  young  woman.  Her  head 
was  bare  and  her  sleeves  turned  up  to  the  elbows. 
She  wore  no  cloak  or  wrap  to  cover  her  from 
the  night  air,  and  her  short-skirted,  coarse  frock 
was  open  at  the  neck.  As  she  turned  up  her  face 
to  the  window,  the  minister  could  see  by  the 
moon's  rays  that  it  was  well-favoured. 

"  Be  you  the  new  preacher  ?  "  she  asked,  rest- 
ing a  hand  on  her  hip  and  speaking  softly  up  to 
him. 

"  I  am  the  new  Independent  minister." 

363 


ONCE  ABOARD  THE  LUGGER 

"  Then  I've  come  for  you." 

"  Come  for  me  ?  " 

"  Iss ;  my  name's  Nance  Trewartlia,  an'  you  'en 
wanted  across  the  water,  quick  as  possible.  Old 
Mrs.  Blade's  a-dyin'  to-night,  over  yonder." 

"  She  wants  me  ?  " 

"  She's  one  o'  your  congregation,  an'  can't  die 
easy  till  you've  seen  her.  I  reckon  she's  got 
something  'pon  her  mind;  an'  I  was  to  fetch  you 
over,  quick  as  I  could." 

As  she  spoke  the  church  clock  down  in  the 
town  chimed  out  the  hour,  and  immediately  after, 
ten  strokes  sounded  on  the  clear  air. 

The  minister  consulted  his  own  watch  and 
seemed  to  be  considering. 

"  Very  well,"  said  he  after  a  pause.  "  I'll 
come.     I  suppose  I  must  cross  by  the  ferry." 

"  Ferry's  closed  this  two  hours,  an'  you  needn't 
wake  up  any  in  the  house.  I've  brought  father's 
boat  to  the  ladder  below,  an'  I'll  bring  you  back 
again.  You've  only  to  step  out  here  by  the  back 
door.  An'  wrap  yourself  up,  for  'tis  a  brave 
distance." 

"  Very  well.     I  suppose  it's  really  serious." 

"  Mortal.     I'm   glad   you'll   come,"   she   added 

simply. 

The   young   man    nodded   down    in    a   friendly 

864 


ONCE  ABOAED  THE  LUGGER 

manner,  and  going  back  into  the  room,  slipped  on 
his  overcoat,  picked  u\)  his  hat,  and  turned  the 
lamp  down  carefully.  Then  he  struck  a  match, 
found  his  way  to  the  back-door,  and  unbarred  it. 
The  girl  was  waiting  for  him,  still  in  the  centre 
of  the  grass-plat. 

"  I'm  glad  you've  come,"  she  repeated,  but  this 
time  there  was  something  like  constraint  in  her 
voice.  As  he  pulled-to  the  door  softly  she  moved, 
and  led  the  way  down  to  the  water-side. 

From  the  quay-door  a  long  ladder  ran  down  to 
the  water.  At  low^  water  one  had  to  descend 
twenty  feet  and  more;  but  now  the  high  tide  left 
but  three  of  its  rungs  uncovered.  At  the  young 
minister's  feet  a  small  fishing-boat  lay  ready, 
moored  by  a  short  painter  to  the  ladder.  The 
girl  stepped  lightly  down  and  held  up  a  hand. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  young  man  with  dig- 
nity, "  but  I  do  not  want  help." 

She  made  no  answer  to  this;  but  as  he  stepped 
down,  went  forward  and  unmoored  the  painter. 
Then  she  pushed  gently  away  from  the  ladder, 
hoisted  the  small  foresail,  and,  returning  to  her 
companion,  stood  beside  him  for  a  moment  with 
her  hand  on  the  tiller. 

"  Better  slack  the  fore-sheet,"  she  said  suddenly. 

The  young  man  lodked  helplessly  at  her.     He 

365 


ONCE  ABOAED  THE  LUGGER 

had  not  the  slightest  idea  of  her  meaning,  did 
not  in  fact  know  the  difference  between  a  fore- 
sheet  and  a  mainsail.  And  it  was  just  to  find  out 
the  depth  of  his  ignorance  that  she  had  spoken. 

"  Never  mind,"  she  said,  "  I'll  do  it  myself." 

She  slackened  and  made  fast  the  rope,  and  took 
hold  of  the  tiller  again.  The  sails  shook  and 
filled  softly  as  they  glided  out  from  under  the 
wall.  The  soft  breeze  blew  straight  behind  them, 
the  tide  was  just  beginning  to  ebb.  She  loosed 
the  main  sheet  a  little,  and  the  water  hissed  as 
they  spun  down  under  the  grey  town  towards  the 
harbour's  mouth, 

A  dozen  vessels  lay  at  anchor  below  the  town 
quay,  their  lamps  showing  a  strange  orange  yellow 
in  the  moonlight;  between  them  the  minister  saw 
the  cottages  of  Ruan  glimmering  on  the  eastern 
shore,  and  over  it  the  coastguard  flagstaff,  faintly 
pencilled  above  the  sky-line.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  they  were  not  shaping  their  course  for  the 
little  town. 

"  I  thought  you  told  mo,"  he  said  at  length, 

"  that  Mrs.  the  dying  woman — lived  across 

there." 

The  girl  shook  her  head,  "  Not  in  Ruan  itsel' — 

Ruan  parish.     We'll  have  to  go  round  the  point." 

She  was  leaning  back  and  gazing  straight  before 

366 


ONCE  ABOARD  THE  LUGGER 

her,  towards  tlic  liarboiir's  month.  Tlie  boat  was 
one  of  the  class  that  serves  along  that  coast,  for 
hook-and-line  as  well  as  drift  net  fishing,  clinker- 
built,  about  twenty-seven  feet  in  the  keel,  and  nine 
in  beam.  It  had  no  deck  beyond  a  small  cuddy 
forward,  on  top  of  which  a  light  hoar-frost  was  gath- 
ering as  they  moved.  The  minister  stood  beside  the 
girl,  and  withdrew  his  eyes  from  this  cuddy  roof  to 
contemplate  her. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  he  asked,  "  that  you 
don't  take  cold,  wearing  no  wrap  or  bonnet  on 
frosty  nights  like  this?  " 

She  let  the  tiller  go  for  a  moment,  took  his  hand 
by  the  wrist,  and  laid  it  on  her  own  bare  arm.  He 
felt  the  flesh,  but  it  was  firm  and  warm.  Then  he 
withdrew  his  hand  hastily,  without  finding  any- 
thing to  say.  His  eyes  avoided  hers.  When, 
after  half  a  minute,  he  looked  at  her  again,  her  gaze 
was  fixed  straight  ahead,  upon  the  misty  stretch  of 
sea  beyond  the  harbour's  mouth. 

In  a  minute  or  two  they  were  sweeping  between 
the  tall  cliff  and  the  reef  of  rocks  that  guard  this 
entrance  on  either  side.  On  the  reef  stood  a  wood- 
en cross,  painted  white,  warning  vessels  to  give  a 
wide  berth;  on  the  clilf  a  grey  castle,  with  a  bat- 
tery before  it,  under  the  guns  of  which  they  spun 

seaward,  still  \vith  the  wind  astern. 

3(17 


ONCE  ABOARD  THE  LUGGER 

Outside,  tlie  sea  lay  as  smooth  as  within  the  har- 
bour. The  wind  blew  steadily  off  the  shore,  so 
that,  close-hauled,  one  might  fetch  up  or  down 
Channel  with  equal  ease.  The  girl  began  to  flat- 
ten the  sails,  and  asked  her  companion  to  bear  a 
hand.  Their  hands  met  over  a  rope,  and  the  man 
noted  with  surprise  that  the  girl's  was  feverishly 
hot.  Then  she  brought  the  boat's  nose  round  to 
the  eastward  and,  heeling  gently  over  the  dark 
water,  they  began  to  skirt  the  misty  coast  with  the 
breeze  on  their  left  cheeks. 

"  How"  much  farther? "  asked  the  minister. 

She  nodded  towards  the  first  point  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Plymouth.  He  turned  his  coat  collar  up 
about  his  ears  and  wondered  if  his  duty  would  of- 
ten take  him  on  such  journeys  as  this.  Also  he  felt 
thankful  that  the  sea  was  smooth.  He  might,  or 
might  not,  be  given  to  sea-sickness:  but  somehow 
he  was  sincerely  glad  that  he  had  not  to  be  put  to 
the  test  for  the  first  time  in  this  girl's  presence. 

They  passed  the  small  headland  and  still  the  boat 
held  on  its  way. 

"  I  had  no  idea  you  were  going  to  take  me  this 
distance.  Didn't  you  promise  me  the  house  lay 
just  beyond  the  point  we've  just  passed?  " 

To  his   amazement   the   girl   drew   herself   up, 

looked  him  straight  in  the  face  and  said — 

368 


ONCE  ABOAKD  THE  LUGGEH 

"  There's  no  sucli  place." 

"What?" 

"  There's  no  such  place.  There's  nobody  ill  at 
all.     I  told  you  a  lie." 

"  You  told  me  a  lie — then  why  in  the  name  of 
common  sense  am  I  here  ?  " 

"  Because,  young  man — because,  sir,  I'm  sick  o' 
love  for  you,  an'  I  want'ee  to  marry  me." 

"  Great  heaven !  "  the  young  minister  muttered, 
recoiling,  "  Is  the  girl  mad  ?  " 

"  Ah,  but  look  at  me,  sir."  She  seemed  to  grow 
still  taller  as  she  stood  there,  resting  one  hand  on 
the  tiller  and  looking  at  him  with  perfectly  serious 
eyes.  "  Look  at  me  well  before  you  take  up  with 
some  other  o'  the  girls.  To-morrow  they'll  be  all 
after  'ee,  an'  this  '11  be  my  only  chance;  for  my 
father's  no  better  'n  a  plain  fisherman,  an'  they're 
all  above  me  in  money  an'  rank.  I  be  but  a  Ruan 
girl,  an'  my  family  is  naught.  But  look  at  me  well; 
there's  none  stronger  nor  comelier,  nor  that'll  love 
thee  so  dear!  " 

The  young  man  gasped.  "  Set  me  ashore  at 
once !  "  he  commanded,  stamping  his  foot. 

"  Nay,  that  I  will  not  till  thou  promise,  an'  that's 

flat.     Dear  lad,  listen — an'  consent,  consent — an'  I 

swear  to  thee  thou'll  never  be  sorry  for't." 

"  I  never  licard  such  awful  impropriety  in  my 

369 


ONCE  ABOARD  THE  LUGGER 

life.     Turn  back;     I  order  you  to  steer  back  to 
the  harbour  at  once !  " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  ISTo,  lad;  I  won't.  An' 
what's  more,  you  don't  know  how  to  handle  a  boat, 
an'  couldn't  get  back  by  yoursel',  not  in  a  month." 

"  This  is  stark  madness.  You — you  abandoned 
woman,  how  long  do  you  mean  to  keep  me  here?  " 

"  Till  thou  give  in  to  me.  We'm  goin'  straight 
t'wards  Plymouth  now,  an'  if  th'  wind  holds — as 
'twill — we'll  be  off  the  Kame  in  two  hours.  If  you 
haven't  said  me  yes  by  that  maybe  we'll  go  on;  or 
perhaps  we'll  run  across  to  the  coast  o'  Erance " 

"  Girl  do  you  know  that  if  I'm  not  back  by  day- 
break, I'm  ruined!  " 

"  And  oh,  man,  man !  Can't  'ee  see  that  I'm 
ruined,  too,  if  I  turn  back  without  your  word?  How 
shall  I  show  my  face  in  Troy  streets  again,  tell 
me?  " 

At  this  sudden  transference  of  responsibility  the 
minister  staggered. 

"  You  should  have  thought  of  that  before,"  he 
said,  employing  the  one  obvious  answer. 

"  O'  course  I  thought  of  it.    But  for  love  o'  you 

I  made  up  my  mind  to  risk  it.    An'  now  there's  no 

goin'   back."      She   paused   a   moment   and   then 

added,  as  a  thought  struck  her,  "  Why,  lad,  doesn' 

that  prove  I  love  'ee  uncommon?  " 

370 


ONCE  ABOARD  THE  LUGGER 

"I  prefer  ii(»t  tf>  eonsider  the  question.  Once 
more — will  you  go  back  ?  " 

"  I  can't." 

He  bit  his  lips  and  moved  forward  to  the  cuddy, 
on  the  roof  of  which  he  seated  himself  sulkily.  The 
girl  tossed  him  an  end  of  rope. 

"  Dear,  better  coil  that  up  an'  sit  'pon  it.  The 
frost'll  strike  a  chill  into  thee." 

AVith  this  she  resumed  her  old  attitude  by  the 
tiller.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  ahead,  her  gaze  passing 
just  over  the  minister's  hat.  When  he  glanced  up 
he  saw  the  rime  twinkling  on  her  shoulders  and  the 
star-shine  in  her  dark  eyes.  Around  them  heaven 
blazed  with  constellations  up  to  its  coping.  Never 
had  the  minister  seen  them  so  multitudinous  or  so 
resplendent.  Xever  before  had  the  firmament 
seemed  so  alive  to  him.  He  could  almost  hear  it 
breathe.  And  beneath  the  stars  the  little  boat 
raced  eastward,  with  the  reef-points  pattering  on  its 
tan  sails. 

Neither  spoke.     For  the  most  part  the  minister 

avoided  the  girl's  eyes,  and  sat  nursing  his  wrath. 

The  whole  affair  was  ludicrous;    but  it  meant  the 

sudden  ruin  of  his  good  name,  at  the  very  start  of 

his  career.     This  was  the  w'ord  ]\o  kept  grinding 

between  his  teeth — "  ruin,"  "  ruin."    Whenever  it 

pleased  this  mad  creature  to  set  liini   ashore,  he 

371 


ONCE  ABOARD  THE  LUGGER 

must  write  to  Deacon  Snowden  for  his  boxes  and 
resign  all  connection  with  Troj.  But  would  he 
ever  get  rid  of  the  scandal?  Could  he  ever  be  sure 
that,  to  whatever  distance  he  might  flee,  it  would 
not  follow  him?  Had  he  not  better  abandon  his 
calling,  once  and  for  all?     It  was  hard. 

A  star  shot  down  from  the  Milky  Way  and  dis- 
appeared in  darkness  behind  the  girl's  shoulders. 
His  eyes,  following  it,  encountered  hers.  She  left 
the  tiller  and  came  slowly  forward. 

"  In  three  minutes  we'll  ojoen  Plymouth  Sound," 
she  said  quietly,  and  then  with  a  sharp  gesture  flung 
both  arms  out  towards  him.  "  Oh,  lad,  think  bet- 
ter o't  an'  turn  back  wi'  me!  Say  you'll  marry 
me,  for  I'm  perishin'  o'  love!  " 

The  moonshine  fell  on  her  throat  and  extended 
arms.  Her  lips  were  parted,  her  head  was 
thrown  back  a  little,  and  for  the  first  time  the 
young  minister  saw  that  she  was  a  beautiful 
woman. 

"  Ay,  look,  look  at  me!  "  she  pleaded.  "  That's 
what  I've  wanted  'ec  to  do  all  along.  Take  my 
hands:  they'm  shapely  to  look  at  J^nd  strong  to 
work  for  'ee." 

Hardly  knowing  what  he  did,  the  young  man 

took  them;  then  in  a  moment  he  let  them  go — but 

too  late;  they  were  about  his  neck. 

372 


ONCE  ABOARD  THE  LUGGER 

With  tliat  he  sealed  his  fate  for  good  or  ill.  He 
bent  forward  a  little  and  their  lips  met. 

So  steady  was  the  wind  that  the  boat  still  held  on 
her  course ;  but  no  sooner  had  the  girl  received  the 
kiss  than  she  dropped  her  amis,  walked  off,  and 
shifted  the  helm. 

"  Unfasten  the  sheet  there,"  she  commanded, 
"  and  duck  your  head  clear." 

As  soon  as  their  faces  were  set  for  home,  the 
minister  walked  back  to  the  ciiddv  roof  and  sat 
down  to  reflect.  ISTot  a  word  was  spoken  till  they 
reached  the  harbour's  month  again,  and  then  he 
pulled  out  his  watch.  It  was  half-past  four  in  the 
morning. 

Outside  the  Battery  Point  the  girl  hauled  do\vii 
the  sails  and  got  out  the  sweeps;  and  together  they 
pulled  up  under  the  still  sleeping  town  to  the  min- 
ister's quay-door.  He  was  clumsy  at  this  work 
but  she  instructed  him  in  whispers,  and  they  man- 
aged to  reach  the  ladder  as  the  clocks  were  striking 
five.  The  tide  was  far  down  by  this  time,  and  she 
held  the  boat  close  to  the  ladder  while  he  ]irepared 
to  climb.  With  his  foot  on  the  first  round,  he 
turned.  She  was  white  as  a  ghost,  and  trembling 
from  top  to  toe. 

"  Nance — did  you  say  your  name  was  Nance?  " 

She  nodded. 

373 


ONCE  ABOAED  THE  LUGGER 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"  I'll— I'll  let  yon  off,  if  you  want  to  be  let  off." 

"  I'm  not  snre  that  I  do,"  he  said,  and  stealing 
softly  up  the  ladder,  stood  at  the  top  and  watched 
her  boat  as  she  steered  it  back  to  Ruan. 

Three  months  after,  they  were  married,  to  the 
indignant  amazement  of  the  minister's  congrega- 
tion. It  almost  cost  him  his  pulpit,  but  he  held  on 
and  triumphed.  There  is  no  reason  to  believe  that 
he  ever  repented  of  his  choice,  or  rather  of  Nance's. 
To  be  sure,  she  had  kidnapped  him  by  a  lie;  but 
perhaps  she  wiped  it  out  by  fifty  years  of  honest 
affection.  On  that  point,  however,  I,  who  tell  the 
tale,  will  not  dogmatise. 


374 


XV 
WHICH? 

The  scene  was  a  street  in  the  West  End  of  Lon- 
don, a  little  sonth  of  Eaton  Square:  the  hour  just 
twenty-five  minutes  short  of  midnight. 

A  wind  from  the  North  Sea  had  been  blomng 
all  day  across  the  Thames  marshes,  and  collecting 
what  it  could  carry;  and  the  shop-keepers  had 
scarcely  drawn  their  iron  shutters  before  a  thin 
fog  drifted  up  from  lamp-post  to  lamp-post  and 
filled  the  intervals  with  total  darkness — all  but 
one,  where,  half-way  down  the  street  on  the  left- 
hand  side,  an  enterprising  florist  had  set  up  an 
electric  lamp  at  his  private  cost,  to  shine  upon  his 
window  and  attract  the  attention  of  rich  people  as 
they  drove  by  on  their  way  to  the  theatres.  At 
nine  o'clock  he  closed  his  business:  but  the  lamp 
shone  on  until  midnight,  to  give  the  rich  people 
another  chance,  on  their  way  home,   of  reading 

that  E.  Stillman  was  prepared  to  decorate  dinner- 

375 


WHICH  ? 

tables  and  ball-rooms,  and  to  supply  bridal  bou- 
quets or  mourning  wreaths  at  short  notice. 

The  stream  of  homeward-bound  carriages  had 
come  to  a  sudden  lull.  The  red  eyes  of  a  belated 
four-wheeler  vanished  in  the  fog,  and  the  florist's 
lamp  flung  down  its  ugly  incandescent  stare  on 
an  empty  pavement.  Himself  in  darkness,  a  po- 
liceman on  the  other  side  of  the  street  flashed  his 
lantern  twice,  closed  the  slide  and  halted  for  a 
moment  to  listen  by  an  area  railing. 

Halting  so,  he  heard  a  rapid  footfall  at  the 
upper  corner  of  the  street.  It  drew  nearer.  A 
man  suddenly  stepped  into  the  circle  of  light  on 
the  pavement,  as  if  upon  a  miniature  stage;  and 
as  suddenly  paused  to  gaze  upward  at  the  big 
white  globe. 

He  was  a  middle-aged  man,  dressed  in  an  ill- 
fitting  suit  of  broad-cloth,  with  a  shabby  silk  hat 
and  country-made  boots.  He  stared  up  at  the 
globe  as  if  to  take  his  bearings  in  the  fog;  then 
pulled  out  a  watch. 

As  the  light  streamed  down  upon  its  dial,  a 
woman  sidled  out  from  the  hollow  of  a  shop-door 
behind  him,  and  touched  his  elbow. 

"  Deary!  "  she  began.     "  Going  home,  deary?  " 

"  Heh?     Let  me  alone,  please,"  said  the  man 

roughly.     "  I  am  not  that  sort."     She  had  almost 

376 


wiTTrn? 

slipped  licr  ana  in  liis  before  lie  turned  to  speak; 
but  now  she  caught  it  away,  gasping.  Mock 
globes  danced  before  his  eyes  and  for  the  moment 
he  saw  nothing  but  these:  did  not  see  that  first 
she  would  have  run,  then  moved  her  hands  up  to 
cover  her  face.  Before  they  could  do  so  he  saw  it, 
all  white  and  damned. 

"Annie!" 

"  Oh,  AVilly  .  .  ."  She  put  out  a  hand  as 
if  to  ward  hini  off,  but  dropped  both  anns  before 
her  and  stood,  swaying  them  ever  so  slightly. 

"  So  this  ...  So  this  .  .  ."  He  choked 
upon  the  words. 

She  nodded,  hardening  her  eyes  to  meet  his. 
"  He  left  me.    He  sent  no  money — " 

"  I  see." 

"  I  was  afraid." 

"Afraid?" 

"  Afraid  to  do  it  .  .  .  suddenly  ...  to 
put  an  end  .  .  .  It's  not  so  easy  to  starve, 
really.     Oh,  AVilly,  can't  you  hit  me?" 

He  seemed  to  be  reflecting.  "  I — I  say,"  he 
said  abruptly,  "  can't  we  talk?  Can't  we  get  away 
somewhere  and  talk  ?  " 

Her  limp  arms  seemed  to  answer:    they  asked, 

as  plainly  as  words,  "  What  is  there  to  say? " 

"  I  don't  know.     .     .     .     Somewhere  out  of  this 

377 


WHICH  ? 

infernal  light.  I  want  to  think.  There  must  be 
somewhere,  away  from  this  light  .  .  ."  He 
broke  off.  "  At  home,  now,  I  can  think.  I  am 
always  thinking  at  home." 

"  At  home     .     .     ."  the  woman  echoed. 

"  And  you  must  think  too?  " 

"Always:   everywhere." 

"Ah!  "  he  ran  on,  as  one  talking  against  time: 
"  but  what  do  you  suppose  I  think  about,  nine 
times  out  of  ten  ?  Why  " — and  he  uttered  it  with 
an  air  of  foolish  triumph — "  of  the  chances  that 
we  might  meet  .  .  .  and  what  would  happen. 
Have  you  ever  thought  of  that?  " 

"Always:  everywhere  .  .  .  of  that  .  .  . 
and  the  children." 

"  Grace  looks  after  them." 

"  I  know.     I  get  word.     She  is  kind." 

"  You  think  of  them?  " 

"Don't,  Willy!" 

He  harked   back.      "  Do  you  know,   whenever 

I've   thought  of   it     .     .     .     the   chance   of   our 

meeting     .     .     .     I've  wondered  what  I  should 

say.     Hundreds  and  hundreds  of  times  I've  made 

up  my  mind  what  to  say.     Why,  only  just  now — 

I've   come   from   the   theatre:    I   still   go   to   the 

theatre  sometimes:  it's  a  splendid  thing  to  distract 

your  thoughts:    takes  you  out  of  yourself — Frou- 

378 


WHICH  ? 

Fron,  it  was  .  .  .  the  finest  plaj  in  tlie  world 
.  .  .  next  to  East  Lynne.  It  made  me  cry,  to- 
night, and  the  people  in  the  pit  stared  at  me.  But 
one  mustn't  be  ashamed  of  a  little  honest  emotion, 
before  strangers.  And  when  a  thing  comes  home 
to  a  man  ...  So  you've  thought  of  it  too — 
the  chance  of  oiu*  running  against  one  another? " 

"  Every  day  and  all  the  day  long  I've  gone  fear- 
ing it:  especially  in  March  and  September,  when 
I  knew  you'd  be  up  in  town  stock-taking.  All 
the  day  long  I've  gone  watching  the  street  ahead 
of  me     .     .     .     watching  in  fear  of  you.     .     .     ." 

"  But  I  never  guessed  it  would  happen  like  this." 
He  stared  up  irritably,  as  though  the  lamp  were 
to  blame  for  upsetting  his  calculations.  The 
woman  followed  his  eyes. 

"  Yes  .  .  .  the  lamp,"  she  assented.  "  Some- 
thing held  my  face  up  to  it,  just  now,  when  I 
wanted  to  hide.  It's  like  as  if  our  souls  were  naked 
under  it,  and  there  is  nothing  to  say." 

"  Eh  ?  but  there  is.  I  tell  you  I've  thought  it 
out  so  often!  I've  thought  it  all  out,  or  almost 
all;  and  that  can't  mean  nothing."  He  cleared 
his  throat.  "  I've  made  allowances,  too — "  he  be- 
gan magnanimously. 

But   for    the    moment    she   was    not    listening. 

"  Yes,  yes     .     .     ."     She  had  turned  her  face 

379 


WHICH  ? 

aside  and  was  gazing  out  into  the  darkness.  "  Look 
at  the  gas-jets,  Willy— in  the  fog.  What  do  they 
remind  you  of?  That  Christmas-tree  .  .  .  after 
Dick  was  born.  .  .  .  Don't  you  remember  how 
he  mistook  the  oranges  on  it  for  lanterns  and 
wanted  to  blow  them  out  .  .  .  how  he  kicked 
to  get  at  them    .     .     ." 

"It's  odd:  I  was  thinking  of  Dick,  just  now, 
when  you — when  you  spoke  to  me.  The  lamp  put 
me  in  mind  of  him.  I  was  wondering  what  it 
cost.  We  have  nothing  like  it  at  home.  Of  course, 
if  I  bought  one  for  the  shop,  people  would  talk 
— '  drawing  attention,'  they'd  say,  after  what  has 
happened.  But  I  thought  that  Dick,  perhaps 
when  he  grows  up  and  enters  the  busi- 
ness .  .  .  perhaps  he  might  propose  such  a 
thing,  and  then  I  shan't  say  no.  I  should  carry  it 
off  lightly  .  .  .  After  all,  it's  the  shop  it  would 
call  attention  to  .  .  .  not  the  house.  And  one 
must  advertise  in  these  days." 

She  was  looking  at  him  steadily  now.  "  Yes," 
she  assented,  "  people  would  talk." 

"  And  they  pity  me.     I  do  hate  to  be  yjitied, 

in  that  way.     Even  the  people  up  here,  at  the  old 

lodgings    ...    I  won't  come  to  them  again.     If 

I  thought  the  children    .     .     .     One  never  can  tell 

how  much  children  know " 

380 


WHICH  ? 

"Don't,  AVilly!" 

He  plunged  u  hand  into  his  pocket.  "  I  dare- 
say, now,  you're  starving?  " 

Her  arms  began  to  sway  again,  and  she  laughed 
quietly,  hideously.  "Don't  —  don't — don't!  I 
make  money.  That's  the  worst.  I  make  money. 
Oh,  why  don't  you  hit  me?  Why  was  you  always 
a  soft  man? " 

For  a  moment  he  stood  horribly  revolted.  But 
his  weakness  had  a  better  side,  and  he  showed  it 
now. 

"  I  say,  Annie    .     .     .     is  it  so  bad?  " 

"  It  is  hell." 

"  '  Soft '  ?  "  ho  harked  back  again.  "  It  might 
take  some  courage  to  be  soft." 

She  peered  at  him  eagerly;  then  sighed.  "  Hut 
you  haven't  that  sort  of  omirage,  Willy." 

"  They  would  say  .  .  ."  he  went  on  musing, 
"  I  wonder  what  they  would  say?  .  .  .  Come 
back  to  the  lamp,"  he  cried  with  sudden  peevish- 
ness. "  Don't  look  out  there.  .  .  ,  this  circle 
of  light  on  the  pavement  .  .  .  like  a  map  of  the 
world." 

"  With  only  our  two  shadows  on  it." 

"  If  it  were  all  the  world     .     .     ."     He  peered 

around,  searching  the  darkness.     "If  there  were 

nothing  to  concern  us  beyond,  and  we  could  stay 

always  inside  it     . 

381 


WHICH  ? 

"  — Witli  tlie  light  shining  straight  down  on 
us,  and  our  shadows  close  at  our  feet,  and  so 
small!  But  directly  we  moved  beyond  they  would 
lengthen,  leng-then     .     .     ." 

"  '  Forsaking  all  other  ' — that's  what  the  Service 
says.  And  what  does  that  mean  if  we  cannot 
stand  apart  from  all  and  render  account  to  each 
other  only?  I  tell  you  I've  made  allowances.  I 
didn't  make  any  in  the  old  days,  being  wrapped 
up  in  the  shop  and  the  chapel,  and  you  not  car- 
ing for  either.  There  was  fault  on  my  side:  I've 
come  to  see  that." 

"  I'd  liefer  you  struck  me,  Willy,  instead  of 
making  allowances." 

"  Oh,  come,  that's  nonsense.  It  seems  to  me, 
Annie,  there's  nothing  we  couldn't  help  to  mend 
together.  It  would  never  be  the  same,  of  course: 
but  we  can  understand  ...  or  at  least  over- 
look." In  his  magnanimity  he  caught  at  high 
thoughts.  "  This  light  above  us — what  if  it  were 
the  Truth?" 

"  Truth  doesn't  overlook,"  she  answered,  with 
a  hopeless  scorn  which  puzzled  him.  "  iSTo,  no, 
she  went  on  rapidly,  yet  more  gently,  "  Truth 
knows  of  the  world  outside,  and  is  wakeful.  If 
we  move  a  step  our  shadows  will  lengthen.  They 
will  touch  all  bright  things — they  will  fall  across 

the  children.     Willy,  we  cannot  move!  " 

383 


wnicH  ? 

"I  see    .     .     ." 

"  Ah?  "  Slie  craned  forward  and  almost  touched 
his  arm  again. 

"  Annie,  it  comes  to  me  now — I  see  for  the  first 
time  how  happy  we  might  have  been.  IIo\v  came 
we  two  to  kill  love?  " 

The  woman  gave  a  crv,  almost  of  joy.  Her 
fingers  touched  his  sleeve  now.  ^'  We  have  not 
killed  love.  We — I — had  stunned  him :  but  (O,  I 
see!)  he  has  picked  up  his  weapons  again  and  is 
fighting.  He  is  bewildered  here,  in  this  great  light, 
and  he  fights  at  random  .  .  .  fights  to  make 
you  strong  and  me  weak,  you  weak  and  me  strong. 
We  can  never  be  one  again,  never.  One  of  us 
must  fall,  must  be  beaten  ...  he  does  not 
see  this,  but  O,  AVilly,  he  fights  ...  he 
fights!" 

"  He  shall  fight  for  you.     Annie,  come  home!  " 

"  No,  no — for  you — and  the  children !  " 

"Come!" 

"Think  of  the  people!"  She  held  him  off, 
shaking  her  head,  but  her  eyes  were  wistful,  intent 
upon  his.  "  You  have  lived  it  down.  ...  It 
would  all  begin  again.  Look  at  mo  .  .  .  think 
of  the  talk     .     .     ." 

"  Let  them  say  what  they  choose.     ...     I 

wonder  wdiat  they  would  say     .     .     ." 

383 


WHICH  ? 

The  Policeman  stepped  forward  and  across  the 
road-way.  He  had  heard  nothing,  and  completely 
misnnderstood  all  he  had  seen. 

"  Come,  you  must  move  on  there,  you  two !  " 
he  conunanded  harshly. 

Suddenly,  as  he  said  it,  the  light  above  was  ex- 
tinguished. 

"Hullo!"  He  paused,  half-way  across. 
"  Twelve  o'clock  already !  Then  what's  taken  my 
watch?" 

A  pair  of  feet  tip-toed  away  in  the  darkness  for 
a  few  vards,  then  Ijroke  into  a  nervous  run. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  it  still  wanted  five  minutes 
of  midnight.  And  while  the  Policeman  fumbled 
for  his  watch  and  slipped  back  the  slide  of  his 
lantern,  the  white  flame  leaped  back  into  the  blind 
eye  above  and  blazed  down  as  fiercely  as  ever. 

"  Something  wrong  with  the  connection,  I  sup- 
pose," said  the  Policeman  glancing  up  and  then 
down  at  the  solitary  figure  left  standing  under  the 
lamp. 

"Why,  hullo!     .     ."  said  he  again. 

— But  which  was  it? — the  man  or  the  woman? 


384 


OTHER    BOOK.S     BY    A.   T.    QJJ  I  L  L  E  R-CO  UC  H 

The   Ship   of    Stars 

A  Novel  of  the  Cornish  Coast 
l2mo,  $1.30 

"  Mr.  Quiller-Couch  is  in  all  that  he  writes  an 
artist,  and  it  is  good  to  get  a  book  as  well  written 
as  is  'The  Ship  of  Stars.'  A  pleasant,  wholesome 
story  this,  full  of  the  salt-bracing  air  of  the  Cornish 
coast." — New  York  Sun. 

"It  is  splendid  art  and  throbs  with  emotion 
and  life.  We  have  waited  a  long  time  for  •  The 
Ship  of  Stars,'      It  was  worth  waiting  for." 

—  The  Bookman. 


Historical  Talcs  from 
Shakespeare 

j2mo,  $r.^o 

"  A  very  laudable  endeavor  to  supplement  the 
classic  work  of  Charles  and  Mary  Lamb,  in  render- 
ing the  historical  plays  which  they  left  untouched 
into  vivid  narratives  which  shall  serve  the  purpose 
of  the  Lamb  tales  in  attracting  young  readers  to  the 
original  masterpieces."  —  J'/ie  Jnlerior. 

'*Mr.  Quiller-Couch  has  done  his  work  suc- 
cessfully, making  entertaining  and  instructive  narra- 
tives such  as  boys  and  girls  will  be  sure  to  relish. 
The  book  will  promote  a  genuine  interest  in  the 
plays  themselves."  —  The  Coni^rci^ationa/ist. 


Uniform  Series  of  Novels  and 
Stories  by  "  Q^" 


Nine  Volumes 
Each,  i2mo,  $i.2j 


The  Splendid  Spur  The  Blue  Pavilions 

The  Delectable  Duchy  Troy  Town 

Wandering  Heath  Dead  Man's  Rock 

I  Saw  Three  Ships  Noughts  and  Crosses 

Adventures  in  Criticism 


A  RTHUR   T.    QUILLER-COUCH  was 

chosen  from  among  all  the  writers  of  the 
day  as  best  fitted  to  conclude  "  St.  Ives,"  the 
late  Robert  Louis  Stevenson's  unfinished  romance. 
That  fact  gives  some  idea  of  how  he  is  regarded  by 
the  foremost  literary  men  of  his  time.  But  not- 
withstanding this,  and  notwithstanding  his  great 
reputation  in  England,  where  he  is  as  widely  read 
by  the  public  as  he  is  highly  praised  by  critics  and 
fellow-craftsmen — especially  by  his  early  and  dis- 
cerning admirer,  J.  M.  Barrie — there  are  many 
lovers  of  good  books  in  this  country  who  have  yet 
to  realize  the  full  literary  importance  of  this  vigor- 
ous Cornishman.  He  has  done  for  the  rugged 
west  coast  of  England  and  its  quaint  characters  and 
romantic  history  what  Thomas  Nelson  Page  has 
done  for  Virginia  and  Miss  Mary  E.  Wilkins  for 
New  England.  He  has  made  for  himself  an  en- 
viable  reputation   as  the  writer  of  "crisp,  strong 


stories  in  which  no  fog,  moral  or  physical,  finds 
any  shelter";  and  the  uniform  excellence  and 
interest  of  his  tales,  the  compression  and  the  care 
for  the  story  as  the  first  consideration,  have  made 
anv  book,  with  his  now  familiar  luvn  dc  plume 
on  the  title  page  "sure  of  a  hearty  welcome." 
These  nine  volumes,  therefore,  comprise  the  first 
definitive  and  uniform  edition  of  the  works  of  a 
writer  who  has  won  his  place  **  among  the  most 
imaginative  and  poetic  of  the  later  English  novelists," 
and  whose  romances  invariably  have  a  quality  and 
a  flavor  impossible  to  duplicate. 

'*  He  is  highly  esteemed  as  among  the  most 
imaginative  and  poetic  of  the  later  English  nov- 
elists."— Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 


la :   A  Love  Story 

PUBLISHED    ONLY    IN    THE    IVORY    SERIES 

i6mo,  75  cents 

"  At  first  acquaintance  ♦  la  '  suggests,  by  her 
splendid  animal  freedom,  one  of  Hardy's  heroines; 
but  the  development  of  her  character  exalts  her 
into  a  noble  type  of  womanly  sacrifice  and  devo- 
tion. ' ' — Philadelphia  Times. 

"  A  very  strong  story  of  very  strong  womanly 
love.  A  wholesome,  vigorous,  and  altogether  de- 
lightful love  story." — Boston  Journal. 

"  No  storv  was  ever  more  fearlessly  and  more 
thoughtfully  aimed  at  the  very  heart  of  life." 

—  The  Bookman. 


Some  Critical  Opinions  of  "Q's"  Books 


"  No  one  else  writes  of  Cornwall  and  its 
people  with  the  knowledge  and  skill  of  Mr.  Quiller- 
Couch. '  '—Philadelphia  Times. 

**  Mr.  Quiller-Couch  has  qualities  that  render 
him  incapable  of  producing  a  dull,  trivial  or  un- 
wholesome book." — Boston  BeacoJi. 

••Of  all  the  short-story  writers  we  are  inclined, 
in  many  respects,  to  give  Mr.  A.  T.  Ouiller-Couch 
the  first  position." — New  York  Times. 

••  The  various  tales  suggest  Mr.  Kipling's 
stories,  but  are  free  from  any  imitation  of  them  ;  in 
pathos,  strength,  and  simplicity  of  style  they  are  far 
superior." — Literary  World. 

"  He  has  a  clear,  rapid,  manly  style,  an  inex- 
haustible fund  of  incident,  and  the  capital  and 
indispensable  knack  of  making  his  people  interest- 
ing."—  The  Critie. 

••He  is  a  realist,  in  the  sense  of  being  a  close 
observer  of  the  human  document.  He  has  none  of 
the  pessimistic  or  cynical  tendencies  of  the  age  ; 
rather,  he  seems  to  find  that  •  somehow  the  light  of 
every  soul  burns  upwards,'  even  in  such  an  abject 
specimen  of  humanity  as  *  These-and-That,'  the 
subject  of  one  of  his  •  Noughts  and  Crosses.'  It  is 
well  that  this  kind  of  realism  should  not  go  without 
its  artistic  expression  in  literature,  and  in  recent 
years  it  has  found  no  such  powerfial  exponent  as  in 
the  author  of  •The  Delectable  Duchy,'  " 

—  The  Bookman. 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS,    Publishers 

153-157  Fifth   Avenue,    New  York 


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